


Vanpora Ficlet Collection

by SlaveToMyKeyboard, SweatersAndScarves (SlaveToMyKeyboard)



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Aftercare, Angel!Eridan, Angst, Blood Drinking, Cake, Caliginous Romance | Kismesis, Cheesy Nicknames, Domestic Fluff, Drunkenness, Emotions, FTM Karkat Vantas, Ficlet Collection, Fluff, Flushed Romance | Matesprits, Gillplay, Grubs, Guns, Humanstuck, Humour, Implied Self-Mutilation, Implied/Referenced Suicide, M/M, Magic, Meteorstuck, Mild Pain Kink, Militarystuck, Mpreg, Pale Romance | Moirallegiance, Quadrant Vacillation, Rainbow Drinkers, Revived!Eridan, Roleplay, Self Harm, Sickfic, Vamp!Kat, Vamp!Kri, Various AUs, Visions, but not the real kind, horn rubs, paps, sort of, stomach cramps
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-03-22
Updated: 2016-12-02
Packaged: 2018-05-28 10:51:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 13
Words: 23,204
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6326092
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SlaveToMyKeyboard/pseuds/SlaveToMyKeyboard, https://archiveofourown.org/users/SlaveToMyKeyboard/pseuds/SweatersAndScarves
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Various ficlets about the Vantases and Amporas, wherein they are involved in various romantic and/or platonic entanglements, resulting in situations of a comical, fluffy, sad, angsty, feelsy, or all of the above nature.</p><p>Ch1 - Angelfish (no sgrub Angel!Eridan AU)<br/>Ch2 - Bite Me (meteorstuck, Vamp!Kat AU)<br/>Ch3 - Blood Drunk (Vamp!Kri AU)<br/>Ch4 - Anniversary Gift (EriKar Militarystuck AU)<br/>Ch5 - Both of You (no sgrub, Preg!Karkat AU)<br/>Ch6 - Unnamed Humanstuck EriKar Fluff (FTM Karkat, sort of Sickfic)<br/>Ch7 - Understanding (meteorstuck Pale EriKar)<br/>Ch8 - Vwhere the magic happens (Cronkri fluff)<br/>Ch9 - Dumb Visions (pale Cronkri)<br/>Ch10 - Ice (meteorstuck Pale Erikar - self harm tw)<br/>Ch11 - Too Much (pale Cronkri)<br/>Ch12 - Icing on the Cake (Cronkri fluff)<br/>Ch13 - Storytime (Pale Erikri fluff)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Angelfish

**Author's Note:**

> A place for scenes or ideas that wouldn't currently work as a whole fic, but were too enticing to pass up. Some may evolve into full stories, some might not. We'll have to see.
> 
> Shades of Violet can now be found [here](http://archiveofourown.org/works/7029103/chapters/15994429) as a full fic.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ((No Sgrub, Angel Eridan AU))

You look down past your shoes at the street far below you, your insides churning at the way the Trolls look like marchbugs, “Are you sure about this?”

“Positivve.” Eridan says, his face angled upwards in the direction of a nearby clock tower.

Dear Gods, he’s going to kill you. Not maliciously or even on purpose; it’s going to be death by fucking petrification as soon as he jumps off of this roof, and the last thing out of your mouth will probably be a scream so mortifyingly loud, that nearby squawkbeast will join you in the afterlife with their sponge clots blown out. Goodbye world, you were pretty shit, but thanks for the laughs.

His grip on your sides tightens and you cling to him for dear life even though you’ve yet to actually leave the ground.

“Ready?” Holy shit he sounds excited.

You nod, “Just fucking get it over with.”

“You’ll lovve it Kar.”

“And you’d better love my fist to your face if anything happens to us.” You growl into his shirt.

He chuckles, and you feel his body tensing into ‘flight mode’. Then you’re going forwards and upwards and there’s nothing solid under your feet. You lock your hands together behind his neck, claws digging into your own shirt instead of him, because you don’t want anything distracting him from _keeping you alive_.

You left your bile sac back on the roof, but you can feel his wings beating and there’s wind pushing your hair back as it rushes past your ears, so you’re guessing you aren’t falling. You grit your teeth against nausea, and try not to kick him when you somehow end up lying back facing the sky.

The world goes upright again, and you almost scream when you’re free-falling for a couple of seconds. But before you can compute the fact that you might be dropping out of the air, everything’s gone quiet and your insides have finally caught up with you. Eridan lowers your feet onto something solid, and you let out the breath you’d been holding.

Your legs feel like grubjelly, and when Eridan says, “You can let go a me noww Kar” you just stand there shaking.

“Kar, you okay?” He asks, smoothing a hand over your hair.

You nod, swallowing before you can speak, “Yeah, just need a minute.”

He pats your back gently as you try to stop being a huge wiggler and get a fucking grip. You successfully find and capture said grip, and manage to force your eyes open to look around. Not down, just around – you think you’d faint if you looked down now. You see the city silhouetted against the sky again, not all that different from the last roof you were on, except now you can see that roof because you’re on one of the highest buildings around. Nope, no, don’t think about that.

“Wwhy don’t wwe sit dowwn?” Eridan says, taking you with him as he slowly walks backwards.

You don’t fully let go of him until your butt touches the floor, at which point you lower yourself back against the tiles and silently vow to not move from that spot unless it’s to get back on the ground in one piece.

“Not one for heights then?” Eridan asks, laying down next to you after his wings vanish.

“No, they’re fucking awful,” You sigh, letting your hand brush against his, “but I guess it’s not as bad with you around, you feathery freak of nature.”

He slips his hand into yours and smiles, real and genuine with his sharp, white teeth that should be scaring you, not calming you, “That’s so nice a you to say Kar.”

You scoff, but don’t say anything else, letting your conversation fall into silence.

You lay there for a while, just looking up at the sky and feeling the movement of his fingers between yours, listening to squawkbeasts twittering and calling as they soar above you. Above, thank God, at least there’s something up higher than you.

“Y’knoww, I think I’vve jumped off a that church ovver there before.” Eridan says eventually, pointing at a spire on the horizon.

You frown, “What, like, trying out your wings or something?”

He shakes his head, “No, I didn’t try to fly, I remember hittin’ the ground wwithout evven havvin’ my wwings out.”

Your pan stalls for a moment, “But didn’t – wouldn’t that –” You stop to gather your thoughts, “Wouldn’t that kill you, or hurt you, or something?”

“I can’t die,” He states flatly, “believve me, I’vve tried.”

He’s… _Tried_ to die? Your stomach twists as your pan goes against your will and tries to conjure up other ways he could have ‘tried’, forming a knot of pity deep in your gut.

“Well, don’t try anymore, okay?” You say, giving his hand a gentle squeeze.

He nods and squeezes back, then lets go to fold his arms over his chest. You can’t pity him – he’s a sea-dweller ghost or an angel or whatever, and you’re a cherry-blood land Troll. It wouldn’t work, even if he was alive, in fact you probably wouldn’t have even met.

“So how old actually are you?” You ask, trying to distract yourself from your own stupid pan, and hopefully stop Eridan from thinking about doing something to his.

He ponders your question for a moment, brows furrowed slightly as he stares up at the sky, then says, “Sixty-nine, but I’ll be sevventy in a feww perigees.”

“Holy shit,” You can’t hide your surprise – you expected him to be old but damn, he is _old_ , “you look good for seven decades.”

“Thanks,” You see him smile for a second time, and then he turns over to face you, “it’s kinda like fate, don’t you think?”

You tilt your head, “What do you mean?”

“Your sign is like a sixty-nine right? Wwhat are the odds that I’d meet you wwhen I wwas sixty-nine swweeps old? There’s got to be somethin’ behind it.”

You roll your eyes, if only to do something other than blush at what he’s implying, “Oh God, you’re not one of these types who believes in magical forces outside of our control are you?”

He raises an eyebrow, “Kar you’re talkin’ to a dead man, an’ it’s not magic, it’s science.”

“ _Science_.” You repeat slowly.

“Yes, magic is just science that wwe can’t explain yet.”

You snort, “Wow, now I can see why the afterlife didn’t want you.”

“Kar! Howw could you say somethin’ like that?” He pulls his most offended face at you, “I am your ticket dowwn from this roof remember, you piss me off an’ I could just leavve you up here.”

You hold your hands up, “Alright, I’m sorry.”

“Good.” He rolls onto his stomach, pressing his arm against your shoulder in a way that you’re sure was deliberate.

You instinctively look at his face, ending up staring at his freaky white eyes for way too long, and only noticing that it’s been too long when he’s grinning at you and staring right back. Blood flushes to your cheeks as you try in vain to pretend that the moons are really interesting all of a sudden. Then there’s a flourish of white and in an instant all you can see is feathers. You don’t give Eridan the satisfaction of shifting your gaze, but you can’t stay unfocussed for long before you’re studying all the ways each layer of plumage fits with the last, wondering if the little ones near the top are actually softer than the others or if they just look that way.

“I get that I look fuckin’ priceless, but you can touch me if you like – uh, m-my wwings I mean, you can, y’knoww, touch my wwings, but you don’t havve to, just a suggestion.” Eridan’s face is hidden behind his hands by the time he trails off, but you can see from the vivid colour in his fins that he’s blushing even more than you were.

You laugh – it was pretty amusing to see him go from suave to stuttering in three seconds flat – but only a little because you’re not a complete asshole, “Are you sure?”

He nods, stretching out his wing some more but not uncovering his face. He’s so adora-auh-a dork, yeah, he is _such_ a dork and it’s totally not endearing, no matter what those sorely confused flutterbeasts around your blood-pusher say. But they only get more insistent as you reach up and brush your fingers over his – oh _God_ , amazingly soft – feathers. Eridan flinches slightly so you stop, then when he doesn’t move you try again, running your touch from the last joint down to the tips of the very end feathers, letting them slide between your fingers.

“They’re amazing.” You mumble.

“They’re just wwings.” Eridan says, having finally dropped his hands from his face.

“ _Just wings_ ,” You scoff, “yeah because fucking everyone has a pair of these on their back.”

He shrugs, “The novelty kind a wwears off after the first ten swweeps or so.”

You shake your head and continue smoothing your hand over the brilliant plumage, “So can you feel any of this?”

“A bit, it’s sort a like wwhen someone touches your hair – I knoww they’re doin’ it, but only ‘cause the feathers are attached to me, they’re not sensitivve or anythin’.”

Hmm, like hair eh? You switch hands and shuffle closer to get at the place where his wings sort of fade into his shirt, watching his face closely as you work your claws under the layer of fluffy, little feathers there. He opens his mouth to speak, probably to ask what you’re doing, but any words are lost to a gasp as soon as you touch his skin.

You smirk, “Not sensitive you say?”

“That’s fuckin’ cheatin’.” He whines, flexing his wings in and out as you continue to prod underneath his feathers.

Then he sits up out of your reach so you follow, only to get pushed back down again when he leans over you, pinning your hands back to the roof tiles. At first you kind of panic because oh shit, you probably just pissed off an un-killable, flying ghost-fish and now he’s going to throw you off of the roof. But then his fingers twine with yours and he just kneels next to you, looking down at your face like he’s thinking about something.

You frown, “What?”

“Your eyes are really pretty,” He replies, as impassively as if he was talking about the moons, “like someone put twwo types a garnet together an’ set ‘em in a ring a gold.” Then the corners of his mouth sink downwards a little, “Garnets are my favvourite, but I’m not sure if it’s ‘cause I actually like ‘em, or if it wwas hammered into my pan ‘cause all Amporas wwear them... Or maybe it’s because they remind me of you.”

You swallow and keep your mouth clamped shut, trying to sink further into the tiles because this is getting way too deep for your liking. You’re also not sure of the way Eridan is trying to stare right through your apparently pretty eyes, or how he leans closer the more you try to shrink back and hide your scarlet face. You’ve had people comment on your eyes before; honestly you’re more weirded out if someone _doesn’t_ say something eventually. But it’s always been ‘strange’ or ‘cool’ or ‘bright’. Only the Maryams have ever called them ‘beautiful’ and they always use flowery words and shit, so that doesn’t count. But Eridan is well… Eridan. He says you’ve got a nice ass, or that someone is cute, but it’s never anything more than that. To hear him being all descriptive and thoughtful when he’s talking about you, it uh, it kinda derails your plan to not pity him.

He releases your hands but you leave them there, resting either side of your head like those palerom models that try to look all innocent – hopefully not like a redrom model making respiteblock eyes at him. Or maybe you do want to do that? Are you already doing that? Are you giving him alluring glances and that’s why he’s just inches from your face? You close your eyes so that you don’t have to think about it. You also stop your futile efforts to sink into the roof, because a flying ghost-fish is trying to kiss you like a scene right out of a fantasy romance, and you know so many Trolls who would kill to be you right now. And when a pair of ice cold lips press against yours, you think you’d kill anyone who tried to take them away.

You’ve felt cold-bloods before. Gamzee has hugged you, even Feferi has given you a polite peck on the cheek, and of course you clung to your frozen companion when he flew you up here. But nothing can quite prepare you for having that same cold _in your mouth_ , because apparently Eridan knows what he’s doing and isn’t going to wait around for you to figure it out. He draws a reluctant moan from you with a flick of his tongue, reluctant because you don’t want anyone to hear, but then you remember you’re on a roof God-knows how many feet in the air and you stop trying to restrain yourself. Eridan makes this rumble in his chest, and when you feel it travel up to your lips you whine, then moan again after his hands find their way to your thighs.

His wings flap a few times and he pulls you up to straddle his lap, holding you steady with a secure grip behind your knees. You loop your arms around his neck for extra support, letting one hand hang down low enough to play with the nearest feathers you can reach. He hums in a way just shy of a purr, kneading his claws lightly into your jeans where the fabric bunches at your knees.

“I pity you so much Kar.” He whispers, just barely breaking the kiss enough to talk.

“Pity you too, angelfish.” You reply, trying not to get too embarrassed because you don’t think that nickname was filtered through your pan before it came out of your mouth.

You feel him smile, “Angelfish,” He repeats, “wwhy didn’t I evver think a that?”

You bite back the answer ‘ _because you’re an idiot_ ’ and kiss him again, purrs rising in both of your throats. You knew it was pointless trying not to pity him, but honestly you’re proud of yourself for holding out for so long, it only makes the reward of giving in that much sweeter.


	2. Bite Me

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ((Meteorstuck, Vamp!Kat/Rainbow Drinker Karkat AU))

“I don’t get Rose’s problem, I mean it’s not like I evven came onto her or anythin’, I wwas just tryin’ to engage in a little friendly rivvalry –”

“ _Friendly rivalry_?” Karkat growls, interrupting the sea-dweller mid-tirade, “Eridan, you almost gave Gamzee another corpse to fuck around with!”

Eridan pouts, “It wwasn’t that bad Kar, she livved didn’t she?”

“Only because Kanaya was so on the fucking ball that she might as well engage in human matrimony with the Goddamn thing.”

“Kan wwas totally ovverreactin’,” He grumbles, plopping down into the chair opposite Karkat with a thud, “an’ so are you.”

Karkat scoffs, throwing his arms up, “Oh _I’m_ overacting? So what am I _supposed_ to do when you go around pitch flirting with someone else, tell me _that_ , your highness.”

Eridan grits his teeth, fins fanning out wide, “I told you already – I wwasn’t. Fuckin’. _Flirtin’_ _._ Noww drop it.”

“Or what? Going to shoot me again? Because that worked out _so_ well last time.”

“ _Bite me_.” Eridan snaps.

Karkat snarls and jumps forward, gripping the arms of Eridan’s chair to pin the sea-dweller in, “Don’t fucking tempt me.”

There’s only two other people in the room; you – Dave Strider – and Sollux, but neither Karkat or Eridan seems to give a single fuck about either of you witnessing their lover’s spat. You’re about to leave, because Karkat’s voice grates on you at the best of times, when a thought pops into your head. Actually, this could be pretty fun.

You tap Sollux’s shoulder, “I’ll bet you the chocolate cake in the fridge that they make out.” You whisper.

He frowns at the growling Trolls, then holds his hand out, “Deal. But if it doethn’t happen in the next five minuteth I win.”

You grasp his hand, “Deal.”

Karkat is completely worked up by the time your little bet has been made; his face bright red and fangs bared just inches from Eridan’s face, so close that the white glow of his skin is reflected in the sea Troll’s glasses. You’re not going to lie, you’d probably be shitting yourself if a vampire – or rainbow drinker, or whatever – was that mad with you, but Eridan looks completely unperturbed, and matches Karkat’s threat with his shark-like teeth and a flush of purple.

You are so going to win this.

They play it out for a bit longer, all tensed muscles and scowls, making angry noises like two cats in an alleyway. Then just as the five minutes are almost up, when they’re so close that you doubt they can even focus on each other anymore, Karkat lets out a frustrated whine and grabs his boyfriend by the scarf, mashing their mouths together with such force that you can’t help but wince.

“Fuck’th thake KK,” Sollux hisses, slapping a hand to his forehead, “you couldn’t leave fishdick alone for juth another two thecondth?”

You lean back in your chair with a smirk, “Read it and weep Captor, that cake is mine.”

He kicks your leg, “I hope you get thick from eating it.”

You nudge him back and earn yourself another playful kick. Then you look back over to Karkat, catching him just when he pulls back and takes a deep breath. He rests his forehead against Eridan’s as both of them try to stop panting.

“Y-you wwanna…?” Eridan asks, and as he speaks you notice the drops of violet on his lips.

“Fuck yes.” Karkat nods enthusiastically, dragging Eridan to his feet and then along behind him as they stumble onto the transportiliser.

“About fucking time.” Sollux mumbles.

You nod in agreement. You’re pretty sure rainbow drinkers aren’t supposed to go more than a week without any blood, but Karkat seems determined to push this boundary, even if it makes him practically impossible to talk to. Hopefully he’ll stop being a raging bitch after he’s gotten his teeth into someone.

***

“Sit.” Karkat orders, shoving you towards your sleeping platform.

You growl but do as you’re told, leaning back against the mass of pillows as Karkat crawls on beside you. He looks so predatory, with his claws catching on the duvet, mouth open a little to show you a flash of his fangs, pupils ringed with a sliver of red and blown wide with lust. You bite your lip. Fuck, he’s _gorgeous_. You always thought you’d want Karkat pale, maybe red if he was up for it – there was no way you could hate him, how he always gave you advice and listened to you. Then after you saw his eyes glaze over and felt those teeth prick at your neck, having him threatening you with death when he was the one with a hole through his middle, it was like feeling pitch for the first time. Vriska can hold one hell of a grudge, and that duel with Sollux was one of the best you’ve ever had, but there’s nothing quite like having an off-spectrum mutant fingering your gills as his teeth become part of your bloodstream.

He lifts a leg over yours, setting himself down on your lap, “Want anything special tonight?” He asks, hooking a finger under your scarf to pull it off.

“Tonight ain’t about me,” You reply, throwing your scarf across the room so he doesn’t get any ideas, “you havven’t had a drink for Gods knoww howw long so just stop starvvin yourself an’ bite me already.”

“Aww,” He sniggers, “were you worried about me?”

You scoff as Karkat nuzzles at the healed punctures on your neck, then one of his nubby little horns comes close enough for you to kiss it, so you do.

“Of course I wwas.” You murmur against the soft velvet.

He shivers, pulling away with one of his sultry ‘ _I want to do bad things to you_ ’ looks as he meets your gaze. You give him one right back, tilting your head a little in a way that’s only just submissive and you know drives him crazy. You probably shouldn’t be teasing him – he must be ravenous – but at the end of the night you _are_ in the spades quadrant. Mostly. Okay, _sometimes_. Still, Karkat has probably the most restraint of any Troll you’ve ever met, so even with your fin wiggles and exposed skin prime for biting, he starts the same as always. He pecks a kiss over both marks in your neck, then more trailing up to your mouth, where he gently nips at your bottom lip until he can slide his tongue past.

All of the books say that being a living blood bag is either horribly painful and terrifying, or one of the most romantic, intimate things in the world. But being Karkat’s is sort of in between – well, with the exception of the first few times when he was a, pissed at you for killing him, and b, still working out how to not make a right fucking mess with those needles of his. It hurts of course, it won’t ever stop hurting even though you’re used to it, but he tries to make it at least half pleasure for you too. He says it’s because your blood tastes better if you’re relaxed, that he can taste what every little touch does to you, how much you don’t want him to stop no matter how badly you fight. You know he would do it for you regardless of the taste though, which is why you’ve stopped fighting.

He’s a romantic, your Karkat; can’t stay pitch for too long before he loses himself to the flush side of passion, the type he lives for in romance novels and cries over in movies. You know that because it’s exactly how you feel around him. Minus the crying at movies shit though, you don’t do that. Honestly, it would be much simpler if you could just be his Kismesis, end of story. But surprisingly, even killing someone can’t erase a good two and a half sweeps of crushing pale and/or red for each other. Look, it’s complicated.

You feel a warm hand wrap around your horn, pressing hard at the base, then rubbing up to the tip and back down again. Each movement sends a stronger buzz of pleasure through your nerves, and before long you can feel a purr building up in your throat. He sucks on your tongue like he’s trying to draw the sound out of you, sighing in approval when you finally stop holding back. You grab the back of his shirt with one hand, burying the other deep in his hair so that when you pull hard later you know he’s going to feel it. But for now you just give soft tugs, almost like a massage as you flex your fingers over his scalp until he purrs back. He told you not to do that at first, insisting that he should be the one touching you, but after you showed him just how much enjoyment you get out of his scraggly hair and plump little body, he was more than happy to discount that rule.

He removes himself from your mouth, licking at the cuts on your lip as he slips a hand up your shirt, claws just millimetres from the slits on your side, “How far?”

God his voice is sexy when he’s like this. You bet he looks it too, but you closed your eyes a while ago and you really can’t be bothered to open them.

“Far ‘s you wwant.” You slur, barely having time to finish before he’s got two fingers under your second opercula, and his thumb stroking over the one below it.

You gasp, arching your back as he pushes in. The warmth of his skin is like fire against your filaments, even hotter than the feeling of him mouthing at your fins, licking over the delicate skin as they flare half-heartedly. Your body always gets so confused when he does this, not sure if it should be forcing him away or pulling him closer. Thankfully, your pan gets most of a say in the decision, and when you feel his breath on your neck, you tighten your grip on his waist.

It’s almost like a release when his fangs pierce your skin, all the tension you’d been holding on to as you waited for it to happen disappears, leaving you as a trembling mess full of pleasure and pain and everything in between. He squeezes your hips between his knees and moans, the vibrations travelling up your neck and making your fins flutter. You tug his hair towards you and he bites down harder, his hand like a vice around the top half of your horn, squeezing until you can feel his pulse over the throbbing of your own blood. It’s like having open nerve endings all over your body, sparking and burning with every touch until you want to scream, so close to ecstasy just under the prickle of Karkat’s teeth and claws.

You sacrifice your grip on his shirt in favour of shredding the duvet, which less likely to piss Karkat off than a ruined shirt and a back covered in scratches. Then he presses deep into your gills, further than even you’ve dared to go, and you have to let go of his hair otherwise you’d be pulling it out. You whine as his fingers hit something solid and push hard enough that you can feel it in the arches, straining muscles and hitting nerves you didn’t even know you had. You’d describe having Karkat drink from you as like pailing but without the mess – or at least your impression of pailing from what fiction and the internet has told you – and when he retracts his fangs it’s like coming down from a high on a cocktail of hormones.

Your next breath is lost to a moan as Karkat slides his hand out in time with a slow stroke along the length of your horn. He licks over the new punctures in your skin, cleaning up any excess blood that spills out as you wait for your pan to creak back into motion. Karkat says that he’s only affected like that when he’s drinking, then as soon as the fangs come out it’s just like being tipsy for a while. He always stays with you though, with his gentle caresses and whispered reassurances.

“Shh, I got you.” He murmurs, kissing your jaw when you whimper at the loss of contact on your horn, his hand now twisting slowly through your hair. “You did so good, so fucking good.” His babbling continues amidst licks and pecks, not really saying anything but it’s as if he’s lost the ability to shut off the link between his pan and his mouth.

You let out a soft chirr and nuzzle his face, ignoring the way you can smell your own blood as he chirps back. Then he sits up and decaptchalogues a handful of bandages, using some to wipe his face before setting about dressing your neck with the rest. He looks so cute when he’s concentrating, nose scrunched up and the tip of his tongue poking out, the grey dyed with a hint of violet that somehow makes you proud – all those times he’s said he won’t wear your colour, but after meetings like this he parades it on his very skin.

“That’d better not look shit.” You tell him, poking weakly at his ribs.

He quirks an eyebrow, “Or what, fishface?”

You smirk, “Bite me.”

The words lack all of the spite they held before, and Karkat’s retaliatory flash of his teeth is playful, accompanied by a light bump of his nose against yours – you think the Humans call that an ‘Eskimo kiss’.

He rearranges the cushions after he’s done, letting both of you lay down. It’s around now that you realise you’ve flipped from black, to red, to pale without even noticing, even though it happens every single time. You loop an arm around Karkat’s shoulders and pull him close, tracing a claw over the back of his neck as he snuggles up to your chest.

“Love you.” He says, and your stomach still flips after half a sweep of hearing him say it.

You smile, “Lovve you, flushed as the dawwn.”

“Pitch as the night.”

“Pale as the stars.”

He sighs, “And ash as the Goddamn storm, you monumental fucking sap.”

You chuckle, “You lovve it too, I knoww you do.”

“Yeah, yeah,” he grumbles, “just go to sleep before I conveniently forget three quarters of that stupid-ass saying you made up.”

You kiss his forehead and then close your eyes. You’d never thought that you would find yourself curled up with a rainbow drinker on the verge of passing out, let alone said rainbow drinker being none other than puny mutant Karkat Vantas. But when you think about it, Karkat is the _only_ person you can imagine doing this with. You trust him with everything you have, and as he dozes off in your arms, claws kneading into your shirt like a meowbeast, you can tell that he feels the same. Even if you _still_ don’t know what fucking quadrant you’re in, and to be honest, you don’t really care to find out if it means any of this will have to change.


	3. Blood Drunk

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ((Vamp!Kri/Rainbow Drinker Kankri AU))

You stand at the door to a hive you wish you didn’t know as well as you do. Your hand is raised, but before you make contact it falls down again, folded under your other arm as you exhale with a huff.

‘ _You can do this_ ’ you tell yourself.

It’s not as if you’re breaking your vow, you’re just trying to be a little more comfortable in the afterlife, and there’s nothing inherently _sexual_ about drinking someone’s blood. It’s all about how you do it and who you do it with. Although when the hive you’re about to walk in to belongs to someone who’s been trying to drag you into a quadrant for several lifetimes, that last part does seem rather questionable. Then again he does that with everyone so –

“Kan, vwhat are you doin’?”

You successfully hold in a yelp, but after spinning around on your jelly legs, you probably still look as if you nearly jumped out of your sweater. You’re going to blame the lack of sustenance for that one; usually you’re alert enough to smell approaching Trolls before you even see them.

“Oh, Cronus, you startled me.”

He smirks, “Hey, sorry about that, doll.”

You stand aside to give him access to his hive. Usually you would take this opportunity to remind him about unwanted nicknames, _again_ , but you’d rather avoid having to return to Porrim and inform her of your failure after Cronus gets annoyed and kicks you out. Not that he’s ever done that before, but knowing your luck this would be the moment he decides to change his tune.

“So do you need somethin’ or…?” He asks, hovering in the doorway.

You clear your throat, trying not to put claw holes in your sweater as you speak, “Yes, I was wondering if you could help me with a rather delicate matter. One that I do not wish to discuss outside of the privacy of a hive if I can help it.” You add, glancing over your shoulder.

He quirks an eyebrow and stares at you for a moment, then something seems to click. “Of course, Kanny, come right in.” You’re not sure if you like that smile he’s giving you.

Regardless, you step inside after him, holding your breath when he leans over your shoulder to close the door. You’ve had a very long time to perfect your disregard for the rather alluring scents that other Troll’s produce, but you also rarely let anyone get this close to you and sea-dweller pheromones happen to be particularly… Potent, due to the requirements of their natural underwater environment.

Then after the lock clicks shut, he pauses, “Oh, hey, you’wve got somethin’ in your hair.”

You try to duck out of the way, but your reflexes are having a serious malfunction lately, and this combined with Cronus’ disposition to touch without giving due warning, means that you barely have time to move before his wrist is right there by your face and you can see the veins underneath his skin, filled with violet and so close you can almost taste him. Your pan goes fuzzy for a second as if you’re going to pass out, and then you realise that you _can_ taste him, feel his cold skin on your tongue and the way he’s clenching his muscles to stop himself trembling. One of you squeaks, but your hearing is muffled so you can’t tell who, and after your fangs unhinge you stumble backwards, sliding to the floor when your back hits the wall.

“H-holy- Oh my God,” You whisper, covering your mouth with trembling hands, “fuckin’ s-shit.”

You feel sick, your insides twisting in on themselves, constricting. You don’t even care which words fall out of your mouth anymore, but Cronus swears fairly regularly so you doubt he’d be triggered by a little foul language, especially since he’s probably too busy freaking out over the fact that you just _bit him_ and _drank his blood_ like a feral creature giving in to its basal desires.

“Hey, Kan.”

You close your eyes and shake your head. You want to tell him to stay away, but his blood is on your hands and your face and dripping from his arm, and if you opened your mouth now you wouldn’t be responsible for what happened. You don’t even want to move your tongue in case you taste it again and confirm your initial thought that he was revoltingly _delicious_. No, no, you can’t think that way, taking sustenance from others is wrong, vile, it makes you weak, makes you reliant, like the Beforan social system believed you were.

“It’s okay,” He continues, and you can smell him getting closer, “Kan, look at me, I’m fine.”

“Stop.” The act of forming even such a simple world spreads that horrid fluid around your mouth, over your tongue, and your throat burns as your body screams for more.

“Kankri,” Cronus’ voice is firm, and you feel cold fingers wrap around your wrists like handcuffs, pulling them away from your face, “look at me.”

Thank God, he’s still stronger than you, he can fight back if you attack him. Still, you shake your head again, teeth gritted against the smell flooding your nose, and you’re not sure if it’s the scent or the movement that makes your head spin. You keep your breathing shallow, fighting against your lungs as they struggle to be more than half filled, but the only thing this accomplishes is to make you more lightheaded than you already are.

“Please, Kanny.” He sounds so hurt – emotionally, not physically, but you don’t doubt that the holes you left in him are stinging by now.

You force your eyes open and look into his. They’re white, as always, and the emptiness that usually only brings you a sense of bitter sadness is reassuring for once. He’s already dead, you can’t kill him accidentally if you lose yourself.

“That’s it,” He says quietly, “you’re okay, Kan, I got you.”

_No!_

it’s not you who needs comforting, you don’t deserve it. You swallow so that you can speak, but as the blood trickles down your throat, all you manage is something that was supposed to be Cronus’ name but came out more of a whine. You can feel the pusher you don’t need any more beating against its thoracic cage, air sacks dragging a deep breath through your nose. All you can smell is _him_ , and you savour every tiny little particle of it. Thank the Gods he doesn’t actually light those awful ‘cigarettes’ he keeps pursed between his lips, you don’t want anything ruining this moment. Then you swallow the saliva pooling under your tongue, and you’d go as far to say you’re _frustrated_ that it no longer tastes of his blood.

“Hey,” His voice is far away, muffled somehow, “you alrigh- _ah_!”

You’re inches from his face when he jerks backwards with a yelp, your teeth giving an unsatisfying snap as they close around thin air. You growl and push against his hands, but he easily keeps you pinned to the wall.

“Vwoah, vwoah, vwoah,” He laughs, but you can tell it’s forced, “I’m all for gettin’ friendly but vwatch the mug, yeah?”

Your eyes are trained on his throat as he speaks, watching the way it moves with each syllable and wishing that you could feel it too. You want to know what muscles move when he screams, which tendons will go taught against your tongue, how his skin will give around your fangs when you suck the life out of him.

“Kan, Kankri, snap out’wve it.”

He makes a few sea-dweller clicks in place of snapping his fingers, but it gets the job done anyway. You blink, refocussing on the world around you as you sit back against the wall. _Dammit_. You let yourself go under again. If Cronus wasn’t so strong you’d be tearing his throat out right now.

“Back vwith me?” He asks, leaning closer again.

You nod, barely able to look him in the eyes. Then you see his fins flick in sequence – right, right, left, right – and you mirror the movement with your hands, tapping against your palms; left, left, right, left.

He smiles, shoulders slumping in relief, “C’mon, let’s get you off the floor.”

You let him lift you up by your arms and lead you to the couch. The fin movements are like a type of code between you, one that you’ll only remember and be able to reply to if you’re lucid – which in your case means able to think about something other than biting your friends’ necks. You have a different code with everyone; Meulin and Kurloz sign your name and you sign theirs back, Latula does one half of a non-contact ‘fist bump’ with a symbol afterwards and you complete it, Porrim taps her nails and you repeat the tune, even Mituna can spark his horns in a sequence, which you then mirror with your hands like with Cronus. None of these require your mouth, since you’ve given everyone permission to gag you if you turn on them. You’re still incredibly uncomfortable with the idea of not being able to talk, but it keeps them safe at least. Plus, you deserve to be gagged if you’re trying to bite them like a bloodthirsty monster, you can’t even imagine how triggering it must be to them. Not that it happens very often though, thank goodness, and this little episode has been your first for longer than you can remember.

Cronus lowers you onto the seat, waiting until it takes all of your weight before letting go. He then grabs a towel to wrap his arm in – you don’t look, you don’t want to know how much blood there is – and sits down. Not next to you, opposite you, a few feet away and over a coffee table, perched on the edge of an armchair like he doesn’t want to get too comfortable.

_He doesn’t trust me. Even after all this time, nobody trusts me._

“Vwhen vwas the last time you had a drink?” He asks, eyes darting between yours and the floor, “I mean it’s obvwiously been a vwhile, so like vwhat are vwe talkin’? A fewv nights? A vweek?”

You were expecting a joke in there somewhere, perhaps flirtation if nothing else, but no matter how much you search his face, you can’t find a single flicker of humour. His expression is the same as Porrim’s when she asked you. He’s completely serious about this.

“I–” Your throat seizes up when you try to reply, the syllable coming out as a squeak.

_Weak. Useless. Pathetic._

“Vwant some vwater?” Cronus is already halfway to the nutritionblock when you nod, “Okay, don’t go anyvwhere.”

You only stop yourself from growling because of the light tone that accompanies his smile. But even behind that you can tell he’s serious.

_‘Don’t leave. Don’t hurt anyone. Don’t hurt me.’ That’s what’s he’s saying._

You take a deep breath because you are _not_ going to cry, and manage a brief smile of thanks when Cronus hands you a glass. The water is surprisingly satisfying, cleansing all of the unsavoury tastes from your mouth.

You put the glass down and then clear your throat, “As I was trying to say, I don’t remember exactly when I last indulged that side of my nature, but I have had little trouble adjusting to a life, or afterlife, of abstinence from another basal desire, and I will not die if I do not feed my instincts like those who still have a standing on the other side of the veil, so I have had no need to keep a counter like most addicts tend to do.”

_LIES, LIES, LIES!_

You remember it exactly, when you sank your fangs into an unconscious Mituna’s neck, how he couldn’t defend himself because you held him down, used your dormant blood player abilities to keep him subdued. You remember hating yourself for it, for the terrified look on his face when he woke up covered in blood and didn’t understand. You remember that he tasted sweet, not herbal like Latula –

_God I didn’t mean to hurt her, I really didn’t. She shouldn’t have interfered; she should have left me to die._

– or salty like Meenah.

_Fuckin’ witch, it’s her fault I’m like this._

“Kan?”

You look up from where you’ve been pulling apart the seam on your jeans.

“Don’t bullshit me,” Cronus says firmly, “howv long has it been?”

You frown, lip twitching with a subdued snarl. He’s trying to help you, but you don’t need it, you just need everyone to leave you alone.

_Why did I listen to Porrim? Why did I go to her for advice regarding my desires? Of course she would tell me to give in to them, bait me into asking for help all the while knowing I would fall for it. And telling me to ask Cronus of all Trolls – she probably thought he would say yes because of how desperate he seems for contact._

This is all so wrong. Cronus may deserve many things, but this isn’t one of them. An answer is though. Maybe then he’ll get the message and see just how well you’ve been coping.

“One sweep before we died.” The words are emotionless, and your face follows suit as you say them, falling into the blank stare that Meenah likes to term your ‘resting bitch face’.

Cronus blinks, “Vwhat?”

“I gave in to my weaknesses three times whilst I could still be deemed ‘living’,” You tell him – it’s no secret who you left your mark on, “but since approximately three human years before the night of our demise, I have refrained completely.”

“Three vwhole – Kan vwe’ve spent like, ten of _my_ lifetimes in the dream bubbles,” He runs a hand through his hair, letting the other flop onto the arm rest as he leans back, “I mean I can’t ewven begin to think howv many fuckin’ svweeps that actually is.”

“It doesn’t matter, I’m already dead, if I can satisfy the cravings then I have no other reason to comply with these new demands that my body has deemed essential for my survival, any measures I take are simply for my own comfort, and even then I am perfectly capable of ignoring such desires like I do with many others.”

He sits forwards, brows furrowed, “Vwhat do ya mean ‘satisfy the crawvings’?”

“By consuming things that are just as satiating to placate my body.”

“Vwhat kind of things?”

You shrug, “Anything I like really, usually a drink such as coffee, various leaf fluids, flavoured juices, alcohol–”

“ _Alcohol?_ ” He sounds half way between shocked and amused by this revelation.

“Cronus I burn through whatever substances I take in at such a rate that I cannot become inebriated, I see no problem with drinking alcohol if it does not have any of the negative effects that most associate it with.”

He tilts his head, looking as if you’ve just described a maths equation to him, “Ya can’t get drunk?”

“Yes, however I still prefer other things over that,” You continue before he can question you further, “chocolate is rather effective I’ve discovered, if also a little addicting in its own right, the same goes for coffee and leaf fluid, but like with anything I can control these cravings so that they do not impact my life negatively in any way, and they are far safer things to have a penchant for than my other option.”

He stares at you for a few seconds in complete silence. You can almost see the gears turning in his pan as he tries to comprehend what you’ve told him.

“So,” He says eventually, “instead a drinkin’ blood, you eat chocolate and drink a bunch a random shit like coffee an’ booze?”

“It is not ‘random’, Cronus,” You scoff, “I have adapted my diet to cater for my needs, however those needs are different from yours and are focussed more on personal preference than nutrition. It is the same as you and those cigarettes, how they serve you no purpose other than to help you achieve something, such as an outward image or a comfortable state of mind.”

“Yeah but I ain’t gonna kill someone if I run out a cigs.”

A growl slips through before you can speak, and you’re torn between satisfaction and guilt at the way the sea-dweller flinches.

“Sorry, right, didn’t mean to trigger you or anythin’.”

“Thank you.” You force yourself to relax as you speak, trying not to let Cronus see the way you have to physically flex your muscles to stop them from tensing.

“So, vwhy did you come owver? Need some extra coffee or somethin’?” He tags nervous laughter onto the end of his question, but it fades after only a couple of breaths.

You bite your lip. You could just say yes, let him think he’s helped you out and then be on your way, prove Porrim wrong and show her that you don’t need – ugh – _someone else’s_ _blood_ , to continue your existence in the dream bubbles. Then you’re hit by another of the sharp pains that have been keeping you awake, like a knife through your stomach, like a _trident_ piercing your insides.

“Kanny, stop it, you’re bleedin’.” Cronus gets up and crouches beside you.

_No! Go away! Please!_

“C’mon, just tell me vwhat you need.”

_NO!_

You feel something cold on your arm and lash out. There’s purple under your claws when your eyes refocus. Then you close them again because you can feel yourself slipping, and there’s something warm running down your chin that you wish was as cold as the grape flavoured juice that you keep in your thermal hull, just for occasions when Cronus gets too close and you want him too much.

You ran out of that juice last week.

“Don’t vworry, it’s just a scratch,” He says, and at the same time you feel something soft pressed to your lips, “an’ here’s a tissue for yours.”

You take the tissue and dab at your lip, using it as an excuse not to look at him.

“I vwouldn’t mind y’knowv, the blood drinking thing.” He looks up at you, fins half folded back in a way that’s so pleasingly submissive.

_No don’t think like that, I shouldn’t see other Trolls that way, shouldn’t see my **friend** that way._

“What do you mean?” You ask, probably failing in your attempts to feign innocence.

 “C’mon, chief, you knowv vwhat I’m talkin’ about,” He leans on the arm of the couch, lips curled into that little smirk that he probably thinks is alluring, “I heal up quick and I vwon’t tell anyone.”

“No!” You actually manage to vocalise your protest this time, jumping away from him into the other seat.

It doesn’t matter if that’s what you came over for, it is, was, and always will be _wrong_.

“Did I not taste good or somethin’?” He pouts, “I mean you sure looked like you vwanted a piece a me earlier.”

You growl, your claws digging into the upholstery. You hate it when you get like this, all of your words lost to such animalistic responses. Cronus just sighs, exasperated, and stands up to take your previous place.

“Look, I knowv you need to drink somethin’ that didn’t come out of a packet,” He says, shuffling closer to you with one arm over the back of the couch, “an I’m offerin’ myself up here as a prime piece a sea-dvweller, honestly I’m gonna be pretty triggered if you turn me down.”

_Well… I don’t want to upset him; he gets rejected enough as it is. I’d be doing both of us a favour, nothing reliant about it. A mutual trade._

You swallow and drag your gaze past his neck to meet his eyes, “Are you quite sure?”

The way his face lights up, it’s almost worrying how eager he is, “A course, babe, I’m all yours.”

“ _Cronus_.” You flash your teeth in warning.

He holds up his hands, “Right, right, no nicknames, sorry.”

He doesn’t look particularly sorry, or afraid of you at all really, which is a surprise considering what you’re about to do and what you did to him previously. He sits back with his legs apart slightly, and his arms down at his sides. He looks so… Vulnerable, even with that smile still quirking his lips, and the sparkle in his eyes that looks suspiciously like excitement.

“Okay, Kan, hawve at me, just be gentle yeah?”

_Gentle, yes of course, I couldn’t think of being anything else._

You nod and shuffle forwards on your knees, putting one hand on the back of the couch, whilst the other hovers awkwardly against your chest. How do you even do this? What angle do you go in from? You’ve never really had the time or appropriate mental state to think about it before. Before, right, you’ve done this before, your instincts will know what to do.

_But what if they hurt him? What if **I** hurt him?_

Then Cronus drops his head back and sighs, “Oh for the lowve a God.”

You frown and open your mouth, but then his hands are around your waist and he’s pulling you onto his lap and good lord he is _strong_. You also squeaked again, which probably explains the heat flourishing in your cheeks. Your position may also have something to do with it; sitting on his legs with yours hanging off to one side, and your hands unintentionally splayed across his chest. You retract them immediately and sit back as far as your balance will allow.

“Cronus!”

“I get that you’re nervwous,” He says, hands still gripping your back even when you squirm, “but this vwill be much easier, trust me. Or would you like to try another position?”

He wiggles his eyebrows at you, and if you weren’t about to drink his blood you’d slap him right in his smug face for even insinuating such a thing at this moment. As it is, your fold your arms instead and glare at him. His eyebrows stop wiggling and form a quizzical expression instead.

“Fine,” You grumble, gingerly putting your hands on his shoulders, “just please remain as still as possible, I don’t want to hurt you.”

_Any more than necessary anyway._

“I lowve your concern, Kan, but I ain’t exactly a pushowver.”

You roll your eyes, then let them drift to his jawline.

_So strong and angular, his neck too, everything about him screams powerful sea-dweller. Except perhaps his hair._

You manage to make yourself smile with that thought, and take the lull in your anxiety to lean forwards, positioning your mouth just inches from his skin. The edges of your vision blur, leaving everything in the centre perfectly in focus, almost zoomed in on each tiny detail. You can even _see_ his pulse, and goodness if that isn’t one of the most tempting things you’ve ever seen. Your fangs catch on the inside of your mouth, like they’re trying to claw their way out. But you can’t just bite him, that would be rude. You should still try to be at least a little civil whilst you’ve got some of your sense left. That thought makes you pause – you’re not going to be able to control yourself once you taste him, no matter how hard you try – but you push it back, following the less aggressive feral instincts that tell you to nuzzle his neck.

He’s so cold compared to you, but he’s the one who shivers at your touch, hopefully from the temperature and not fear. You let your lips brush his skin and his hands grip your sweater. The back of your mouth feels warm, a sensation shared by your lower stomach, and as you open your mouth to breathe him in, you can feel yourself beginning to tremble. He smells even better than you remember. Your pusher is beating so unevenly that it hurts, like it might stop any second. You open your mouth wider.

_Okay. Okay. Gentle._

You ease your fangs onto his skin.

_Gentle. Gentle. Gentle._

Then as soon as you feel that resistance, the way he tenses his muscles in preparation of the pain, like a piece of cloth held taught as it’s sewn… You lose it. Your mouth clamps shut and you bite down into him. He makes a little noise of discomfort, but otherwise stays still.

_Such a good boy._

You sigh as his blood floods your senses, dancing over your tongue with its salty-sweetness, not quite as chilled as the juice you put in the thermal hull. Then it runs down your throat and the rest of your insides curl up in anticipation. You can feel the trail of cold down your chest, pooling in your stomach just above the warmth that’s settled there. You’re honestly surprised you’re staying coherent enough to notice any of this, usually it’s just an electric taste and fuzzy sounds, but you can feel _everything_ and hear _everything_. Each little breath that makes it out of the throat your fangs are locked into, the tiniest movement of the body underneath you, the way all of your muscles are trying to clench around anything they can. You’re probably making holes in his shirt – his arms too, judging by the ache in your hands as your claws dig in.

Cronus holds you still as you writhe on his lap, instinctively stretching your legs out to try and ease some of the tension in your body, like a coiled spring looking for release. Is that you making that high-pitched sound? Dear Gods it is.

“Shh, Kan.” He manages to whisper, putting one hand on your knees whilst the other stays against your back.

You press your tongue under your fangs as vibrations ripple through them, but it doesn’t stop when he goes quiet. In fact, he doesn’t go quiet because he’s purring, rumbling in his chest as he holds you tighter, and you could cry because it’s such a lovely sound. The next mouthful of blood you suck is different, better, like you can _taste_ his purr rather than just hear it, and another whine slips out once your throat is clear. Your scalp begins to tingle, like someone’s stroking your horns, but you know for a fact that Cronus is still holding you in place. Then when you open your eyes, your vision is fuzzy, black spots blinking in and out in time with waves of dizziness. Your fangs retract without instruction from your pan, and as Cronus breathes a sigh of obvious relief, you go still against him, leaving a trail of blood as your head slips down onto his chest.

He rubs slow circles into your back, mumbling things that you can’t quite make out. You didn’t think that drinking would make you so exhausted; before it’s always been like a shot of adrenaline. Perhaps it’s the mood you were both in, or how Cronus let you have it willingly instead of you… _Taking_ it from him, like you did with the others.

“Kan,” Cronus nudges your shoulder, “you there or am I talkin’ to a brick vwall?”

_I’m not a brick wall, I’m just a little sleepy!_

“Mmnnhh,” is all that makes it out of your mouth, followed a few failed attempts at speech later by a slurred “sleppy.”

_Haha, sleppy. Sounds like peppy. Or puppy. Hehe, puppy. That’s a funny word._

“Sleepy?”

You nod, “Sho, shmnh, sho sleepy.”

“Yeah you sound it,” He chuckles, “an’ here I thought _I’d_ be the one passin’ out.”

He fusses with something next to you, lifting you off of him and making the light go in your eyes. You groan and squeeze them shut.

“Hang on a sec, babe.” He says, and there’s more rustling of fabric before he moves his hand to your face.

“Cron’ssm _mpphhh_.” Something soft rubs your face, ruining what might have been a semi-coherent sentence.

Actually it probably wasn’t, you really can’t focus right now.

_Ugh even **thinking** is hard. Why are words just so- so, **slippery**?_

_Haha. Slippery._

_Slippery puppy. Hehe._

You snort out a chuckle, opening your eyes to see Cronus looking very confused.

“Are you _sure_ you can’t get drunk?” He asks, putting his other hand on your face.

_Drunk? I am most definitely not drunk!_

“Pa _ww_ sitive,” You drawl, nodding your head as much as his grip will let you, “’m sober ‘s a wiggler.”

He raises an eyebrow.

_Hey! I am **not** lying!_

You puff out your cheeks into an indignant frown, “I’m seri'us, Cronus, I hav’n had anythin’! I’d appressiate it if you believed me on this, ‘cause lyin’ is bad.”

“Okay, okay, you hawven’t had anythin’, just makin’ sure.”

“Like when I said I was copin’ earlier,” You continue, “truth is, ‘m not, an’ I remember all the times I bit someone, an’ I hate m’self for it, an’ I know ev’ryone else does too, as if I wasn’t annoyin’ enough already, but now I deserve to be alone, ‘cause ‘m a freak who bites people an’ eats all the chocolate n’ drinks all the coffee, n’m, ‘m sorry.” You sigh and cast your eyes away from his face.

Oh, he wrapped a towel around his neck.

_That is **not** sanitary._

Actually, you’re starting to feel genuinely ill at the thought of it. And kind of like you want to cry? But also laugh?

“No, Kan, don’t say that,” Cronus pulls your face closer with a smile, “you can’t help bein’ the vway you are, an I don’t knowv about anyone else, but I like you no matter vwhat you put in your mouth.” His expression then abruptly drops, “Shit, uh, that came out vwrong, please don’t yell at me about triggers.”

You were actually going to say something, but the thought just goes POOF as soon as you open your mouth, and you end up giggling instead. Then suddenly your face is wet, and its sobs using up all of your air instead of laughter.

Cronus drops his hands from your face and pulls out a non-blood-stained tissue, “Hey, babe c’mon, I didn’t mean it.” He wipes your face with a concerned expression, mumbling something about blood and Porrim.

“No! Nonono!” You grab the front of his shirt “don’ tell Porr’m!”

“Vwhy not?”

“’Cause…” Damn, you don’t actually have an answer.

_Because it’ll mean she was right? ‘Cause she’ll think I’m weak?_

“Look,” Cronus says, prising your hands away from the fabric and holding them, “I beliewve you vwhen you said you didn’t hawve any alcohol, okay?”

You nod.

“So that means there’s somethin’ else goin’ on here, doesn’t it?”

You hesitate… Then nod again.

“An’ Porrim knowvs more about rainbowv drinkers than anyone, so I just vwant to ask her advwice an’ make sure you’re okay, alright?”

“M’kay.”

He sighs, “Good, nowv vwait here.”

He lifts you off of his lap and then goes into another room, leaving you alone to… Fall asleep apparently. You close your eyes for what feels like a second, and then he’s gently shaking you awake with a cup of water in his hand.

“Hey, Por said to drink this.” He shoves the cup into your hands after you sit up.

You do as you’re told and sip at the water as Cronus settles down next to you again. He’s got a proper bandage around his neck now, and he’s changed his bloody shirt, which makes you feel a lot less uncomfortable when he pulls you close after you finish your drink.

“Por also said that you might actually be drunk.”

_What?!_

“No, no ‘m not, I swear!” You can feel the tears welling up again so you sniff them back.

“I knowv, Kanny, I knowv,” He cups your face again, rubbing your cheeks in a way that’s so unusually soothing, “she thinks that you drinkin’ so much a my blood after not hawvin any for svweeps has messed wvith your pan.”

**_So much_ ** _of his blood? I barely had anything! Rainbow drinkers can suck someone dry, but I didn’t even take enough to make Cronus woozy._

“She said it’ll vwear off though,” He adds, “but until then I gotta vwatch you, make sure you don’t do anythin’ stupid.”

_Porrim thinks I need watching like a wiggler? That I'd do something stupid enough to warrant a bodyguard?_

“I’m not stupid.” You mutter, scowling at him.

“I knowv, I vwasn’t sayin’ you are, but just, stay vwith me okay? Vwe can do somethin’ fun like vwatch a mowvie, I’ll ewven let you pick.”

You think for a moment.

_I guess there are worse things I could do in this state than watch a movie with Cronus._

“Okay.”

“Great!” His face lights up and he decaptchalogues his husktop, “Pick one on here an’ vwe can vwatch it on the big screen.”

He scrolls through a list of movies and you just sort of, jab at the screen randomly, your eyes too unfocussed to actually read any of the titles.

“Grease? Really?” He sounds equal parts sceptical and excited.

_Of course I would have to pick that one._

You nod, “Yes, show me what you’re always takin’ about with these greasy humans.”

He chuckles as he flicks on the TV, “Greasers, Kan, they’re called Greasers.”

“M yes, of course.” You yawn and lean against his shoulder.

You drift in and out of consciousness as he explains parts of human culture, usually being woken up by one of the many songs you’ve realised this movie has. You don’t really pay attention to the plot, but Cronus seems to enjoy whatever is happening immensely, so you’re content to sit and watch along with him. At least it eases your guilt over how this all happened; you don’t like relying on others, especially not someone so willing to do anything. You’ll need to remember to talk to Cronus about that when you’re more lucid. Honestly, just offering up his blood like that? He could get himself badly hurt.

You’re glad you weren’t the one to teach him that lesson personally, you don’t know what you’d do if you lost Cronus as a friend. A small - okay, maybe not so small - part of you does hope there will be a next time though, because inebriation aside, that was the best meal you’ve had in a _very_ long time.


	4. Anniversary Gift

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ((Militarystuck AU, humans are humans, trolls are trolls, all characters approx early 20's/10 sweeps))

“You ready Kat?” Dave’s voice crackles through the receiver, barely audible over the rush of wind in your muffled ears.

“Hell yes,” You reply, decaptchaloguing your beloved secret weapon along with its launcher attachment, “also, it’s Captain Vantas to you, shitwad.”

You click both pieces together, then run your fingers over the embossed VanPora sign above the trigger and smile, before hoisting the whole thing onto your shoulder. The straps keeping you upright give a little, but hold firm even when you lean away from the ship to get a good view of your target. The roof tiles shimmer all around the spire that pierces the clouds, just _waiting_ to be dropped onto some unsuspecting soldiers standing in the courtyard below. This is going to be fun.

“That’s a pretty impressive piece of hardware dude,” Dave says, “good thing you had it or we’d be shit out of luck.”

Your smile turns into a grin, “You can thank Ampora when we get back, it was an anniversary gift.”

“You guys are married?”

You scoff, “ _No_ , it’s a Matesprit thing, not that you’d understand.”

You can almost hear him rolling his eyes, “Right, right, I’m just a stupid Human, of course.”

“Stupid enough to put the front cannons out of commission, hence why I’m now risking my life by hanging off the side of this thing like a fucking parasite with a death wish.” You’re complaining about it, but you just can’t wipe the thrilled expression off of your face; this is the most action you’ve seen in weeks.

“Hello ladies this is your Admiral speaking, with orders for you to _shut the fuck up_ and get your heads in the game,” Vriska barks through your earpiece, “you can carry on with your squabbling later when you’re not representing the Empire, and by extension my standing as it’s ruler’s Kismesis. Now shoot the fucking thing and let’s get out of here.”

Dave clears his throat, “Alright ‘Captain Vantas’, we’re nearing target range, fire when ready.”

You close one eye and line up the spire’s weak point in your crosshairs, “Firing in three,” you put the slightest pressure on the trigger and the barrel begins to hum, “two,” you can feel heat radiating through the glove on your supporting hand, and a red light sparks to life at the front of the launcher, “one.”

Squeezing the trigger is like having a fully grown purple-blood tackle you in the shoulder, and if you weren’t attached to the ship you’d have probably been launched into the ocean half a mile back. You might also be deaf slightly, if the ringing in your auriculars is anything to go by. But you forget all about that when the scorching red beam connects with whatever the tower is made of, exploding in a shower of sparks and sending the whole thing crashing to the ground with an impressive cloud of smoke.

“Yes!” You throw your free hand up in the air, “Suck on that you alien fucks!”

They probably can’t hear you because a, hopefully they’re all dead, and b, you’re one guy standing on a ship suspended 500 metres above them. But you yell anyway, because screw them and the wreckage they left on your favourite aquatic vacation planet, a message that you took _very_ personally.

“Vantas!” Vriska hisses, “Could you entertain the thought of having even a smidgen of dignity, and shut your face gash before you embarrass us all?”

“Stop being such a killjoy Serket, when did you get so _boooring_?” Dave draws the word out for at least eight ‘o’s, chuckling as she retaliates with a frustrated growl and then predictably throws her earpiece away.

You wince at the static that assaults your already damaged sponge clots, but join in with the laughter as you climb back aboard, because nothing is funnier than making Admiral Serket angry. Besides, even if she wanted to give you hell for it later, you’re under so much protection that she can’t even lay a finger on you. Hah, and you thought being the ‘Second Signless’ would be all about making speeches and looking pretty. Which, okay, it kind of is, but it also means that you get to do pretty much whatever you want as long as Feferi gives you the okay.

The ride back to the station is spent cheering over reports that the other towers have fallen. You’re not exactly sure what the crystal spires do, but they seem to be pretty heavily guarded and scattered strategically all over the planet, so your best guess is that they’re a communications system or energy grid. Well, whatever they were, they’re not anymore. Boo-fucking-hoo.

You leap out of your seat when the ship docks, sprinting to the communal livingblock where another of the fleet’s Captains is waiting. He doesn’t notice you at first, too busy pacing around probably worrying about where you are. So you wait, arms folded and leaning on the doorframe, until he flops down into a chair and finally locks eyes with you.

“Oh, Kar, you’re back,” He’s trying to sound all casual about it, but you can see the relief as if someone just lifted a dozen cholerbears from his shoulders, “how did it go- _oh_!”

You run forwards and fling yourself into his lap instead of replying, thankful that he’s not wearing his stupid studded jacket so you can rub your face all over his neck and chest, chirping and chittering like a love-struck six-sweep-old.

“Wwhat’s gotten into you, did somethin’ happen?” He asks, pulling you up by your shoulders.

He actually looks sort of concerned, and you laugh in his face because you can’t help yourself. He’s going to think you’ve gone insane.

“That gun is what happened,” You say once you’ve composed yourself, “Eridan that thing is fucking _incredible_ , it blew apart a whole tower!”

His fins snap back in shock, “You mean you didn’t use the ship’s blasters?”

“No, Dave fucked them up, but that doesn’t matter,” You grab his face, “I just got to use the best anniversary present ever given by any creature in history, and now I have to thank my Matesprit for it in the only way that will appropriately demonstrate my gratitude.”

He swallows, eyes never leaving yours, “And that wwould be…?”

You lean close and whisper in his ear, “Have I ever told you how sexy you look when you fire your rifle?”

He shakes his head, hands falling to settle on your waist.

“Hmm, that’s so awful of me,” You nip his fin, savouring the little sounds he makes as you move on to kissing his neck, “and I was going to ask for some pointers too.”

“I-I could still h-help, if you like?” He says, voice wavering as your mouth ventures close to his fin again.

He’s always been a sucker for roleplay.

“That’d be great,” You put your hands on his shoulders, dragging them slowly down over his chest and stomach, “how about your private quarters, _Captain_?” The last word is practically all breath, purred right into his ear as he squirms beneath you.

He nods so hard that his glasses almost fall off, and you end up running to his personal block like excited pre-pupates – thank God for transportilisers, you don’t think you could have waited long enough to actually _walk_ there.

Shooting that tower may have been great and all, but celebrating it is where the _real_ fun starts.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This might get a part two at some point, depends if I want this collection to earn itself a higher rating.


	5. Both of You

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ((No Sgrub, Preg!Karkat AU))

Karkat lets out a long moan as you press your thumbs into the small of his back, sinking further into the cushions piled up in front of him.

“Good?” You ask, lightening the pressure whilst you wait for a reply.

“Mmmnhhh yeah,” He sighs, “ _so good_.”

You press harder again, rubbing the heel of your palm up to his shoulders and back down, drawing more sounds of unbridled pleasure from your Matesprit. He must be feeling good; the last time he was this loud about liking something is when you did this to him in the first place – but that’s another story.

“This is your fault you know.” He says, as if you didn’t just remind yourself of that.

You smirk, glad he can’t see it because you don’t want to ruin this moment with your usual brand of tactless stupidity, “I don’t remember you complainin’.”

His reply is a grunt and a half-assed shrug. Wow, nice to know how fondly he remembers the very romantic date that it took you hours to arrange – getting a thousand fairy lights hung from the ceiling of a cave is _not_ an easy task, anyone saying otherwise is a liar. Then you squeeze just the right point on his spine and he keens, arching his back as he relaxes completely into the pile.

“God Eridan,” He purrs, “mph, that’s fucking amazing, _you’re_ fucking amazing.”

You lean forwards as you push on his back, planting a kiss behind his ear, “Glad to be of servvice.”

He shivers, making pleased little noises as you trail more slow kisses across the back of his neck.

“D-down a bit.”

You do as he says, knowing when to stop by the way he whines, the sound changing pitch as you rub circles into his velvet grey skin.

“ _Oh_ , oh yeah, that’s the spot.”

You can’t help purring at the feeling of him practically melting under your touch, his short moans and murmurs of encouragement going straight to your blood-pusher and lifting it up in a swell of warmth. You didn’t think you could pity him any more than you already did; you’ve seen him bloody and afraid, shaking with tears, crying with laughter, screaming in ecstasy as he gives you everything he has. But every night he surprises you, with a little smile here, a whispered nothing there. And in the days, when you get to watch him sleep, so peaceful and exposed and with only you to protect him. You don’t regret a single second of it.

“I don’t blame you really.” Karkat mumbles, reaching a hand back to lay it over yours.

You take hold of it and grip tight, letting him guide you forwards until your palm is flat against his stomach.

“But, you are doing a pretty good job of making up for this little fucker head-butting my bladder every hour on the hour, so that I can’t even have a goddamn nap without needing to get up half way through to make sure I don’t piss myself.” His voice is laced with drowsiness, lacking any of its usual spite.

The grub kicks against your hands, as if objecting to its parent playing the blame game.

“Yeah, yeah, I know,” Karkat laughs, “it’s not your fault either.”

You love the way he talks to them. Sometimes you’ll hear him in another room, ranting about something or other to the growing bump in his belly, usually finishing with an announcement that he knows the grub probably doesn’t care or even understand what he’s talking about. You doubt it can really hear him either – or maybe it can, you have _no idea_ how any of this grub stuff works – but you don’t have the heart to tell him.

He begins to purr softly as you lay your chest against his back, both of your rhythms blending into one. It’s different from his usual deep rumbles, more of a half-chirr, and you feel the grub squirm in response.

“Anythin’ else you wwant lovve?” You ask, resting your cheek between Karkat’s shoulder blades.

He hums in thought, “Are there any of those chocolates left?”

You nudge the lid off of the box with your free hand, dragging it closer after you see four berry mousse truffles remaining inside. Karkat reaches for one, but you beat him to it, bringing the expensive treat up to his mouth. He takes it from you gently, licking the chocolate dusting off of your fingers before resting his head back down on the pillows.

“Theshe ‘re sho good.”

“They should be, cost me a fuckin’ mint to order them in.”

“Aw you put my needs above your money, how sweet.” Karkat teases, chirping as you offer him another chocolate.

You would have been happy to feed him all of them, but he insists that you have the second to last one, or at least split it with him, which is what you end up doing.

When he’s finished, he rolls over onto his back, pulling you down next to him in the pillow fort and pressing a tender kiss to your lips.

“I love you.” He whispers, snuggling up to you with his nose against your collarbone.

“Lovve you too,” You reply, kissing his forehead as you place a hand on his stomach, “both of you.”

Karkat falls asleep almost instantly, drifting into the most serene slumber you’ve seen him have in weeks. You stay awake a bit longer, listening to him breathe and feeling the grub move every so often, proof that your reasons for living are right there with you as you join them in the land of dreams.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wrote this late at night - as always, apologies for typos!


	6. Unnamed Humanstuck Erikar Fluff

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Exactly what it says on the tin.
> 
> Karkat's having a bad month, so his boyfriend decides to cheer him up.
> 
> ((Trans FTM Karkat, implied menstruation, guess it could count as a sickfic, minimal physical description so feel free to insert your own personal headcanons for their appearances)).

It’s the school holidays, and a Saturday on top of that. You should be doing something fun; playing computer games with Sollux, exchanging vintage memes with Dave, talking about romance novels with Kanaya, letting Eridan drag you to that really expensive café down the road and then insist on paying for everything. Y’know, normal things, things that people with friends and a boyfriend tend to do to fill the void in their daily lives. But not you. Not today. You’re with your boyfriend, yes, but instead of getting treated to a slice of chocolate cake, you’re curled up with your head in his lap as your insides twist like they’re trying to rearrange themselves. In fact, just the thought of that slab of sugar-riddled sponge dripping in frosting makes you want to puke. You press harder on the hot water bottle clutched to your abdomen, but it went lukewarm half an hour ago and does little to soothe your discomfort.

“Are you sure you don’t want anythin’ to eat Kar?” Eridan asks, gently rubbing your lower back.

You shake your head. In truth, you can feel your all-but-empty stomach threatening to cave in on what little breakfast you managed to force down, but your body seems hell bent on torturing itself because every time you even consider food, your throat closes up so tight that you probably couldn’t eat it even if you wanted to. Eridan sighs and moves his hand to your shoulder.

You feel awful for making him go through this with you. He just asked you over to watch movies, trying to cheer you up like the thoughtful, lovely boyfriend he is, and you’ve pulled him down into your pit of hormone-driven despair before you even decided what to watch. You should have known why you were feeling so off lately, why your back ached for literally no reason, why even the tiniest pinprick felt like a stab, why you wanted to cry at pretty much _everything_. But no, because you were living in your own little bubble and subconsciously ignored the fact that it had been almost exactly four weeks since you’d last felt like this. Knowing probably wouldn’t have made a difference though, he’s still a worrywart no matter what explanation you give him, or how far in advance, and cancelling your meet up would have just made him more concerned.

What are you supposed to say anyway? ‘Sorry I’m going to be a massive douche for a week and I probably won’t want to see anyone, but there’s totally a reason behind it so don’t take it too personally.’ Yeah, fucking stellar justification there Karkat, good job.

“I’m sorry.” You mumble, immediately regretting it when the tears you’ve been bottling up make a break for the surface.

You rub your nose to disguise a sniff and somehow manage to hold them in.

“Don’t be,” Eridan gives your arm a squeeze, and you pray that he can’t feel your guilty heart pounding heavy in your chest, “I just wish there was somethin’ I could do besides give you pills an’ a rubber sack full a water that probably isn’t even staying warm, not exactly the most romantic ways a makin’ someone feel better.”

You snort out a slight laugh, having to rein in the tears again because apparently _every single emotion_ is reason to waste your water reserves today.

“It’s okay,” You manage, reaching up to place your hand over his, “I feel less like shit just being with you.” Nope, too sappy, say something else. You swallow so that you can tag on a quick “But yeah, this thing is pretty fucking useless right now.” Nice save.

“Want it warmed up?”

“Nah,” You nudge the offending article onto the floor, “’m too hot anyway.”

You’re wearing jeans and a sweater in summer, of _course_ you’re too hot. God you can be stupid sometimes. Then a cough tenses your whole lower half with pain and you think perhaps that minimal amount of liquid warmth _was_ actually easing the cramps, if only a little.

“Why don’t you try an’ have a nap?” Eridan suggests, running his fingers through the knotted mop that you pass off as hair.

Shit, you didn’t even brush it. Better add that to the list of things making you ‘look like death warmed up’ as Eridan would say. Terrible skin, check. Double the usual bags under your eyes, check. Unable to stand up straight or walk properly because of your stupid female organs trying to cripple you, check. Pessimistic mental outlook stained onto your face, check. You’re basically a zombie. But you’re honestly so out of fucks to give about your appearance by this point. After your dad offered to give you a lift literally to the Ampora’s front door, you didn’t even bother to put on your binder this morning. Eridan doesn’t mind anyway, he always says you should just do what makes you feel comfortable.

“You could use my bed if you like? Or one of the spare rooms? Or just stay on the couch?” He continues. You don’t need to see his face to know he’s giving you a concerned frown.

Wasting your time with Eridan by sleeping doesn’t sound quite as bad as being an awake pain in the ass. At least then he can just watch you… Or something. You’re pretty sure he does that. And rearranges your hair. Hah, God help him if he decides to try.

“Yeah, I’m fine here.” You reply quietly, then add, “You can move though, if you want.” Jesus Christ you sound depressing.

“Do you want me to?” You want to yell at him for being so considerate; this has got to be making him miserable, or bored at the very least.

You push yourself up – with considerable effort, fucking anaemia shakes, you could barely even text this morning – and turn to face him. He doesn’t look as sad as you’d imagined, but the way his eyes dart across your face betrays his worry.

You sigh, “No.”

He smiles a little, resuming to pet your hair with soothing, repetitive strokes, “Then I’ll stay as long as you need me to.”

You nod and mirror him when he leans forwards, your lips meeting just long enough for you to taste his blueberry lip balm. At least you still remembered to put yours on earlier, chapped lips would have made you feel even worse. You shuffle closer after you part, resting your head in the crook of his neck like you’re slotting together a jigsaw. Even when you feel as if you’d rather be asleep, the way he presses the gentlest kiss to your forehead makes you glad you’re awake to hug him in return. You actually manage to forget about the pain when you focus on his breathing, his heartbeat, how he massages your back a little with his thumbs as he holds you close. You’re always surprised when he can make you feel loved at times like this, times when you would normally be moping around the house and only interact with people when Kankri or your parents try and offer you things. You think you might even be able to nap up enough energy to do something nice for him later.

“Want a movie or somethin’ on in the background?” He knows you so well – you find it much easier to sleep when it’s not completely quiet.

You nod, opening your eyes enough to see the TV screen. He flicks the controller and Matthew Macfadyen’s face pops up, in the midst of giving Keira Knightley a poignant stare across the ballroom. Pride and Prejudice, wonderful, just the sort of romantic drivel you need to doze off.

You press your nose lightly against his jaw, “Thanks.”

He just hums and repositions his hands around your waist.

“I love you.” You hear him mumble sometime later, over Mrs Bennet’s shrieking about her disobedient daughters.

You let your lips curve into a relaxed smile, just awake enough to mutter, “Love you too.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A little vent fic about feeling crummy that I decided to put here because it turned out cuter than I expected. Plus I've been thinking about the idea of FTM Karkat lately and wanted to try my hand at something... At midnight... With one early morning revision. Sorry if this should have never left the vaults of my computer files.


	7. Understanding

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Meteorstuck AU where Eridan was revived after the wand incident and Karkat made it his mission to sort the prince's shit out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This will probably be an actual fic at some point, but I just wanted to post this conversation here as an excerpt because I like how it came out (shocking for me, I know) and it's kind of the inspiration behind the whole thing.

“No.” Karkat states flatly, interrupting whatever the sea dweller was saying and continuing to pace around him in a circle.

Eridan barely resists thumping the ground like a wiggler, if only to save what little dignity he’s managed to hold on to, “Wwhat do you mean _no_? I didn’t evven finish!”

“I mean that’s not the sort of answer I was looking for,” Karkat replies, “try again.”

“ _Fine_ ,” Eridan hisses, trying and failing to sit up straighter in the collapsing mountain of shitty wands, “I wwas fightin’ wwith Sol because he wwas-”

“ _Wrong_.”

The violet blood takes a deep breath through gritted teeth; no point getting angry at the person who basically saved your life and might also be your Moirail (and is doing a shitty job of it), even if he is a mutant, “Fef an’ I wwere havvin a perfectly fuckin’ civvil convversation and-”

“ _No_ , Eridan.”

“Wwhat the fuck do you wwant from me?” He snaps, “I’m tryin’ to tell you wwhat happened!”

Karkat stops walking, standing arms folded opposite the other Troll, “I didn’t ask what happened – I was there remember? I’m asking _why_.”

“Like I keep tryin’ ta tell you, it wwas ‘cause Sol-”

“No!”

“Karkat _please_!” Eridan’s voice cracks mid-plea out of frustration.

Why is Karkat toying with him like this? Is he asking him questions with no right answer, just to get satisfaction out of telling him he’s wrong?

“I’m asking what _you_ think, Eridan,” Karkat says, tone as controlled as he can make it, “for once in your fucking life actually _listen_ to what someone is saying.”

Eridan huffs out a growl, claws digging into the nearest wand, “I knoww you’re askin’ me and I’m trying to tell you! Fef-”

“ _Wrong_.”

“Kan-”

“ _Wrong_!”

“I-”

Karkat remains silent this time, because although Eridan cut himself off in anticipation of being interrupted, he’s perfectly happy to let him continue.

“I…” The sea dweller hesitates again.

Why is Karkat letting him talk now? The only difference is that he didn’t start with someone else’s name. Wait. Suddenly it clicks.

“I wwas… Angry.” He admits quietly.

Karkat nods, trying not to show his relief too much as he kneels down next to the wand pile. He’s nowhere near winning this battle yet, but he can’t help letting the small amount of progress lift his spirits. He’ll have to thank Rose later for the tips on what to say.

Eridan sighs, “I wwas angry, because _I felt_ like nobody wwas takin’ my wword for anythin’, and I couldn’t fix things unless I showwed them that I wwas makin’ the right choice, joinin’ Jack an’ all.”

Karkat frowns, “Who’s them?”

“Fef, Kan, _you_ … Evveryone, I had to livve up to my class an’ showw ‘em that it wwas our only hope and I wwanted to givve them an opportunity to join me,”  He rubs his temples, then lets out a slight growl, “but they just _had_ ta get in the fuckin’ wway instead a listenin’ to good honest reason from someone wwith authority on the subject an-”

“Hey, hey, slow down.” Karkat’s voice is softer now, his hands resting on the violet blood’s shoulders instead of folded tight to his own chest. “I don’t need to know any of that shit, I just want to know how _you_ felt, okay?”

For a few moments all he gets in return is a blank stare. He can practically see the pieces trying to fit together inside Eridan’s pan, as he blinks and frowns and tilts his head. His fins barely move though, still pressed back and down in submission. It would be endearing under different circumstances. Then the sea dweller drops his gaze to the floor.

“I…” He pulls his knees up to his chest, “I don’t wwant to talk about it anymore.”

“Alright.” Karkat shuffles closer, slowly dropping his hands to lay them over the other Troll’s.

He would have liked to get further, but pushing it now might just undo everything he’s been working towards. They made headway though, and Eridan needs to know that. All this time Karkat’s been trying to stay distant, a Moirail only out of convenience, for everyone’s safety, for Eridan’s sanity. But it feels wrong, being so cold with him, especially with the pale sparks that have been flitting inside Karkat’s chest practically since he and Eridan met, now stronger than ever and growing every minute he has to watch Eridan shrink further into himself. His Moirail should be the one person he can be open around, but he still feels like he needs to hide.

Giving in to his impulses, Karkat reaches out and gently cups the sea dwellers face with one hand. Eridan flinches at first, and it feels like a punch to the gut, knowing that he’s anticipating something other than the soothing touches his diamond is trying to offer.

“Shh.” The sound is instinctive, slipping through Karkat’s teeth before he can think otherwise.

Wait, why would he think otherwise? This is normal. Just because the others don’t see Eridan that way doesn’t mean he should be depraved of every positive interaction.

“You did good today.”

Eridan looks up at the sound of Karkat’s voice, but doesn’t speak. In fact, he looks like he’s about to cry, and Karkat doesn’t quite feel equipped to deal with any more of that. He manoeuvres himself onto the mass of wands – worst pile idea ever, seriously – and huddles up against Eridan’s side. The taller Troll watches him the entire time, frozen still as if moving might scare him off. Then Karkat’s arms loop around his chest, the mutant’s warm face pressed against his neck, and it’s like a rush all at once; the need to protect the little ball of fury and heat curled up next to him. He wraps his arms around Karkat’s shoulders, pusher missing a beat when the other Troll just holds on tighter, nuzzling into his Moirail’s scarf.

“Want me to stay?” He asks in a murmur, voice muffled by fabric and drowsiness.

“Please.” Eridan whispers, hands gripping the back of Karkat’s shirt.

Neither of them say anything after that. They just settle back into the pile (which is somehow more comfortable when you’re sharing it with someone), both dozing lightly in the comfort of the other’s presence, the feel of having them close. The talking can wait until later.


	8. Vwhere the magic happens

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ((Cronkri Fluff, Human or Troll compliant))

“Cronus, are you sure it is entirely necessary that my vision remain so restricted like this? I find it a little… Unsettling. I feel rather exposed.” Kankri fidgets where he sits, hyper-aware of the silken fabric underneath him.

“Yeah a course, I can’t do it if you’re vwatchin’.”

Kankri sighs, but keeps his eyes shut as requested.

Cronus pauses. Is Kankri really that unsure? Does he not trust him?

“It vwon’t be long,” he says, resisting the temptation to put a reassuring hand on his boyfriend’s shoulder, “but if you ain’t comfortable vwith it just say so, I vwont be angry, y’knowv that right?”

“Yes I know, I was merely expressing my concern so that you may be aware of potential changes to my behaviour, but I trust you, so please continue with the ‘magic’,” Kankri manages a smirk, “this is where people say it happens after all, is it not?”

Cronus laughs, “Newver thought I’d be sayin’ this, but I think vwe’re talkin’ about tvwo different type’s a magic here doll.”

The smile on Kankri’s face lightens, his body relaxing through their conversation.

“Nowv,” Cronus says after a moment, “havwe a look an’ tell me, is this your card?”

Kankri opens his eyes, blinking a few times to focus on the card Cronus is holding. The ace of spades – Kankri recognises the reference from the collection of CD’s in the corner of the room, but it’s definitely not what he was thinking of.

“No.” He says.

“Awv _vwhat_?” Cronus frowns, dropping all of the cards into his lap as he tips his head back with a loud sigh. “Vwhich one did you pick then?”

Kankri glances at the pile, then plucks his card from where it’s balancing on his boyfriend’s knee and holds it up, “Four of hearts.”

“Oh you little _minx_ , should’wve knowvn you’d pick hearts.” Cronus snatches the card and tosses it over his shoulder.

Kankri can’t help giggling at the way his boyfriend is sulking like a child, but quickly covers his mouth and gets his laughter under control, lest he offend his love and best friend.

“Cronus Ampora,” he says once he can speak evenly, “you are quite honestly the worst magician I have ever met.”

Cronus pouts, then joins Kankri in another fit of laughter, pulling the smaller boy into a hug, “Guess I should stick to vwizardry then, huh?”

Kankri’s giggles escalate again as Cronus begins to squeeze and poke his sides, his breathless protests only half-hearted at best.

“You think I can be a vwizard Kan?” Cronus teases, kissing Kankri’s neck where he knows his hair will tickle his ear.

“Yes!” he yells, squirming in the older boy’s lap, “Be a- a wizard! Please! Just stop -aha!- stop tickling me! Noo – ah! Ahaha!”

Cronus finally lets go, sitting back to watch a red faced Kankri catch his breath. “Nowv _that_ vwas magic.”

Kankri blows a strand of hair from his face between pants, arms folded across his heaving chest as he frowns up at the other boy, “And what, may I ask, are you referring to?”

“You, smilin’ an’ laughin’ like that.” Cronus replies with a grin of his own.

Kankri’s expression changes; a mix of surprise at the sincerity of his boyfriend’s words, a feeling of adoration for the way the eyes he’s looking up at are gazing down at him, and also the tinge of embarrassment he always endures during conversations like this. He doesn’t mind though. Kankri rolls over and sits up to face Cronus again, their hands automatically lacing together between them.

Cronus leans forwards, pausing before pressing a gentle kiss to Kankri’s cheek, “I lowve makin’ you happy.”

Kankri feels his face flush with heat, but it’s the kind he’s come to tolerate. Perhaps even like.

“I enjoy making you happy as well," he says, "seeing you content is enough to make me feel the same.”

For a moment they’re lost in the haze of affection, gentle smiles and soft gazes. Then Cronus’ eyes narrow slightly, and before Kankri can question anything, he says “So can I showv you another trick? ‘Cause that’d make me vwery happy.”

Kankri rolls his eyes, feigning annoyance, before chuckling slightly, “Go on then, if you must.”

“You’re the best, Kan!” Cronus jumps off of the bed like an excited child, beginning the hunt through his drawers to find the next ‘trick’.

Kankri wasn’t sure what to expect when Cronus invited him into his bedroom and asked him to close his eyes, but out of all the options that ran through his head, he thinks this outcome is far better.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A silly idea that I had and just needed to get out of my system. Also this thing needed more CronKri, let's be honest.


	9. Dumb Visions

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Pale CronKri in the dream bubbles; Kankri is having visions of death and destruction, but at least he has his Moirail to distract him when things get too much.

The patterns of your Moirail’s wallpaper are blurry through your tears, but if you closed your eyes, you’d see the visions again. Of your friends dying, bleeding, people you don’t know screaming in pain. Your dancestor, terrified and alone and helpless. That’s what you saw this time – the ones about him are always the worst. You know Karkat doesn’t like you. He’s made that much clear with the few words he has actually said to you. You’re used to it; not being tolerated, getting ignored, being told to go away. But as much as he gives off an aura of hostility and hatred, you can’t help caring for him. He’s your flesh and blood, even if by unconventional means. And for every time he’s glared at you, there’s something else in it too, as if he feels the bond you know is there.

You sigh and put those thoughts to rest. You just have to talk to him more, he’ll understand eventually.

“Howv you feelin’?” Cronus squeezes the part of your shoulder he’s been tracing circles on for the past hour.

With your throat still all tight and gross, you don’t trust yourself to speak, so instead you roll onto your back and muster a smile, wiping the last of your tears on your sleeve.

“Better?” He ventures, now stroking gently through your hair.

You nod. He smiles and leans back on the couch. More minutes pass; of you staring at the ceiling trying not to think, of him curling pieces of your hair around his fingers, blunt nails dragging lightly over your scalp. He trims them to be more human, he tells you. Then you blink and it turns into a vision of him – crying, covered in violet, finless and- God that makes you feel sick. You force your eyes open and breathe through the nausea, resisting the urge to reach up and make sure your Moirail’s fins are still there. But Cronus notices. He always notices.

A cold hand dries the new wave of tears from your cheeks, “Another one?”

You don’t even need to answer. He’s already pulling you up against his chest, letting you muffle your cries in his shoulder. Why are you only getting these visions _now_? Of all times? What use are they to you, or anyone? You’re already dead, preserved only by a construct of an alternate universe. God your head is _killing_ you. A sob jumps out and Cronus just hugs you tighter.

The emotions fade quicker this time. His scent calms your uneven breaths, the way his arms surround you stop the tremors. Even the natural coolness of his skin soothes the pounding in your skull. You can finally see darkness behind your eyelids, instead of death and destruction. Your fingers trace the line of his jaw until there are fins fluttering under your touch; soft and delicate, but there and moving and working. It’s silly, you know, to expect your visions to come true in an instant, but they’re just so _vivid_. It’s as if you’re taken to another place. Watching whatever your twisted seer powers want to show you is awful, but the worst thing, is that it’s never you. You’re always _watching_ , you can’t help, or move, you’re just _there_ and it’s so _fucking frustrating_.

“Hey, Kanny, clawvs in arm, please remowve.”

Your grip snaps open at the pained strain in your Moirail’s voice. Great, now you’re the one _causing_ it. At least the hand still near to his fin only balled into a fist. You sit up so that you can’t do any more damage, but Cronus pulls you back against him without hesitation.

“I’m sorry,” you force out in a whisper.

“It’s alright,” he murmurs into your hair, “I vwas just bein’ a wviggler, it didn’t hurt that much.”

You want to disagree, but he would deny it to his last breath and you’re in no position to argue right now. So you sit, and you breathe, and you try not to think, because thinking only takes you one place lately. It’s a place you would lock away and never come back to if you could.

“I mean it,” Cronus breaks the silence, but you can’t tell if it’s been a few minutes or an hour, “you’re fine, Kan, don’t beat yourself up about this kind a stuff, it’s vwhat I’m here for.”

“I shouldn’t-” your voice cracks, but when you clear your throat it barely makes a difference, “I shouldn’t have hurt you, Cronus, I should _never_ hurt you-”

“Shh, stop, it vwas just a teensy little accident, okay?” he says, rubbing your shoulder like he’s trying to shake the negative emotions out of you.

The strange thing is that it _works_. Each slight jog to your body chips away at the sadness, the anger, breaks down your walls so softly that you barely feel it happening. Before you even realise, your eyelids are drooping and there’s a purr rumbling through your thorax.

“That’s better.” Cronus loops an arm under your legs to lift you onto his lap, keeping a tight hold after you settle. “You can be so dumb sometimes.”

“ _Dumb_?” The word silences your purr. You wriggle free from your position and straddle Cronus’ lap so you can look him in the eyes. “Excuse me, but I don’t see anything about my current situation that would qualify me for the label ‘dumb’,” your voice is stronger as you ease into a lecture – familiar territory, “not to mention that it has many negative connotations and, when used in the wrong way, can offend and alienate a large number of people. I also do not appreciate your association of me expressing my emotions – voicing my troubles and my woes to you, my trusted Moirail – with a lack of higher intelligence or overall intellect. Fortunately, I am equipped to cope with these sorts of things and not let them phase me, even when said by someone I consider a close friend, but others may not be as forgiving.”

“Sorry, Kan,” Cronus slips in when you pause, as expected, “I didn’t mean it that vway, I vwas just tryin’a lighten the mood is all. But,” you frown at the way he’s smiling, “since you got yourself all vworked up owver it, I gotta pap you.”

“I don’t think that will be requi-”

“Boop.”

He just papped your nose. He poked the end of your nose with his index finger whilst making a silly noise, and now he’s grinning as if it was a challenge to be victor of. Your brows furrow deeper.

“Cronus Ampora, that was the worst excuse for a pap I have ever experienced, and-” your lips are tugged by a smile as he begins to chuckle, “-and you need to be serious, Moirallegence is very serious-” he’s laughing now, and for some reason, so are you, “-business and I have just been through great emotional stress and I do not. Need. You. Mak-ing. Fun. Of. Me!” You punctuate each syllable with a tap to the forehead, but he giggles the whole way through.

“I’m not, I svwear!” He catches your hands and gives them a squeeze. “But if it really makes you that uncomfortable, I can promise to newver say it again.”

You sigh. How can you stay mad at him? With his drooped fins and wide eyes, just begging to be reassured. The fact that you were never really mad to begin with might also have something to do with it; you were just looking for an outlet, something else to think about, to talk about. Something to let your pan go on auto-pilot. You have to admit, it worked wonderfully.

“It’s alright,” you tell him, “but the next time you insult me, I will pap you to Alternia. Are we clear?”

He smiles – not a smirk, or that sleazy grin he uses for flirting, just soft and comforting in the way you absolutely adore, “Crystal. So, you feelin’ better nowv? Like, really better?”

“Yes, thank you, quite considerably.”

“Glad to hear it.” He gives you a real pap this time, a light press of his palm to your cheek, and you lean into it as your eyes drift closed.

You don’t see the visions. It’s just blissful darkness. Ghosts don’t need to sleep, and at first it felt cruel, to be deprived of the relief that sleep brings to exhaustion. But when you’re nestled up against your Moirail’s chest, listening to him breathe and purr along with you, it almost seems like a blessing. If you fell asleep, you would miss the way he traces diamonds on your back. Or how he sighs into your hair every so often, right between your horns and somehow warm even with your cherry red blood.

Yes, you could perhaps force sleep if you really wanted to. But right now, this is better than any dream.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Woo some let's get some pale CronKri up in here!


	10. Ice

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A vent fic that I actually kind of like.
> 
> ((Meteorstuck, Pale EriKar, TW: self harm))

Sitting still in your computer chair has never been this difficult before. You’ve got a screen to occupy you, people chatting to block out the sound of your own pulse. The keys and infuriating messages to keep your fingers and your pan busy. Tip tap tip tap, over and over and over, reading line after line of bullshit nonsense that makes your blood boil, until you need to look away because FUCK how can people be so _utterly moronic_?

Deep breaths, Karkat. Your nails dig into your palms, but you stop before they draw blood. You want to, though. You never did before, but now everyone knows. They all know and they could kill you for it, cull you mercilessly for the red filth that would coat your skin. Just a little cut, that’s all it would take to show them, maybe incite some primal urge to rid the world of mutants and freaks.

But they wouldn’t. Not even Equius; he knows it would make Nepeta miserable, especially considering it’s you. Most people would place their bets on Eridan, but no matter how much he spews about the hemospectrum, he’d never lay a hand on you. He’s told you as much, when you refused to tell him your blood colour.

The thoughts go around and around in your head, about when Jack stabbed you and you saw _so much_ of your own colour, more than you’ve ever seen before, and your arms just _scream_. You want to scratch them, turn your skin pink and sore, leave lines that turn red, start to sting, make you feel the pain you were born to feel-

It’s all you can do to keep your arms pressed to the table, staring at the computer screen as more and more lines of text pop up and go unanswered. Is that really why? Because you think you deserve to feel pain? Because you want to see what condemns you to that fate?

No. That’s stupid. You don’t want that. You’ve never wanted that, you never will. That’s so against everything you were taught as a wiggler, everything about survival, carrying on no matter what, avoiding culling at all costs. And yet, you can’t ignore how easy it would be - to slip out unnoticed. Everyone thinks you’ve gone to eat, or to sleep, when really you’re hunched in the corner of your block, scratching at your own skin like a deranged animal.

Sollux puts his headphones on, and you seize your chance. Terezi doesn’t even notice until you’re already on the transportilizer, you just see her chair swivel as the computer suite vanishes. You head for your block, but everyone will look there. Maybe…

There’s hidden compartments all over the lab. You find the closest one, where Eridan stashes his shitty wand pile, which you promptly kick aside. The metal wall is blissfully cold against your back, and your claws scrape away tension with each red mark they leave. But they’re not sharp enough - you can barely get anything even remotely lasting. You growl as the lines turn blotchy and blend together, then hiss as the sting sets in.

Fuck.

This was a bad idea. You’re such a fucking idiot, how was this going to make you feel better, now you’ll just have to explain to everyone why you ran out and are going to come back looking like you’ve been crying - which you’re doing right now, you’re fucking crying, and it’s all your fault.

“Kar?”

Oh for fucks sake this is not what you need. He’s going to be pissed that you fucked up his wand pile, then he’s going to ask why you’re crying, then he’s probably going to leave you because Eridan is a swell guy sometimes, but he is utterly pathetic at dealing with other people’s emotions.

You hide your face with your arms and pray that he goes away.

“Hey, Kar, w-what are you doin’?”

Of course praying would work. What deity is going to listen to you? A hopeless asshole who doomed two universes, yeah that really screams ‘worthy of having his prayers answered’.

Eridan says something else, so you shake your head, hoping he gets the message to leave. But he doesn’t, because he’s Eridan - honestly, you can’t tell if he’s terrible at reading signals, or just flat out ignores them half the time.

You feel him sit down next to you, and for a while that’s all he does. Just sits. Then he starts muttering about his wands being messed up, and you completely give yourself away with a single sob that your sleeve failed to muffle.

“W-what’s w-wrong?” He touches your shoulder for a second, like he isn’t sure how to, to _comfort_ you, or whatever it is he’s trying to do.

You shake your head again and shrug him off, pushing his hand away without thinking about your sleeve riding up. His fingers are around your wrist in a second. Your head snaps up and you hold your breath as you watch him, the way he gently moves the fabric of your sweater so he can study the red marks you’ve left on yourself. Your cheeks turn the same colour, a sudden flush of embarrassment.

He sighs, eyes scanning over your face, then stands up and gives a gentle tug on your arm. “C'mon. ”

It’s not an order. His voice is gentler than you’ve ever heard before. You blink a few times, then let him help you to your feet and back out into the hall. He takes you towards the block transportilizers, and you can’t even put up a fight as he silently leads you onto his.

He doesn’t look at you the entire time, just sets you down on his lounging platform and then walks over to what looks like a thermal hull. It feels as if you’re in a bubble, the noises of him digging around in the frozen box distant and distorted.

You barely register that he’s sat down next to you, until he’s holding your hand again and carefully rolling your sleeve up past your elbow. The question ‘what are you doing?’ gets stuck in your throat, so you just watch him, trying to force your pan to process what’s happening.

There’s a cracking sound, and then he holds up what looks like an ice cube. His eyes meet yours, eyebrow raised in question. You’re not sure what he’s asking, but you nod anyway, following his movements as he places the cube on your skin.

It’s like a shock, and you flinch away from the sudden cold. Eridan pauses, loosening his hold on your wrist. But you don’t move away. You relax, urging him to carry on, and when he does you sigh, because the ice is somehow sharp and soft and numbing all at once, giving you a constant _something_ to focus on as it melts against your skin.

Watching how he methodically draws circles and swirls is so calming, like he’s erasing the stress and the pain and the tension, until you can’t feel anything except how warm the air is after the ice cube moves.

“Okay?” Eridan asks when he reaches the crook of your elbow.

You nod, taking the opportunity to shuffle closer as he switches to your other arm.

When you lay your cheek on his shoulder, you’re not entirely sure why you do it, but something about it just feels _right_. Even if he does take a second to adjust before finding his swirling rhythm again.

Your eyes are closed by the time he finishes, and even when he tries to nudge you awake, you only open them to move even closer to him. You shouldn’t be doing this, he doesn’t need any encouragement with this, this pale scenario, or whatever the hell is happening here. But honestly, you don’t _care_ what’s happening. It feels good, and right, and just really, really _nice_.

Eridan stays still for a moment, as if weighing up his options. Then he sets his hands on your shoulders and shuffles around to sit behind you, pulling your back against his chest. You let your head rest back against him as he takes your hands again, squeezing them gently before beginning to slowly rub his thumbs up your arms, following the path of the ice cube.

You never thought a sea dweller could feel so _warm_. He’s still cold everywhere else, but his hands are such a pleasant temperature against your frozen skin.

“Do you w-want to talk about it?” He mutters, continuing to massage your arms.

You shake your head. You’re expecting him to laugh, or scoff, but he doesn’t.

“Alright,” he says, then goes quiet.

“How did you know to do that?” Your voice is timid, and cracks every other word. Honestly, you weren’t expecting it to even work.

“My Lusus show-wed me,” he replies, “I used ta scratch myself up real bad, ‘specially w-when Wris an’ I w-were a thing.”

You can’t believe how calm he sounds. No theatrics, or drama. It’s as if he’s reading from a book. You glance at his arms, catching sight of a silver line just showing under his sleeve. You don’t want to know how many are really there.

Or maybe you do. Maybe you want to look at them all, study their shapes, trace the patterns with your fingers, and kiss each one to take the pain that caused it away.

“Ice just, stops the feelin’,” he continues, unawares of your inner turmoil that’s churning up a multitude of horribly pale desires.

The final straw is when he sighs, and you want to do anything to make him never sound so down ever again. You twist around to look up at him, guiding his hands to your waist and then laying your own on his shoulders.

“Thank you,” you tell him, looking him straight in the eyes even as yours sting with the threat of tears.

His mouth quirks with the slightest smile, and you manage to give one back despite yourself. You lean up as Eridan drops his head down, letting your foreheads press together.

It’s been a long time since you’ve felt like this; like you’re sitting on a cloud, all your cares left on the ground below, just for a while.


	11. Too much

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Another vent fic, this time with the dancestors.
> 
> ((Pale Cronkri in the dream bubbles))

Finding somewhere to be alone always seemed to easy, in principle. Nobody would bother you if you quietly crept away to another bubble, in fact, they would probably celebrate as soon as they noticed. And that’s fine. You’ve known for a long time that they don’t want you around; it’s only your stubborn hope that you might get through to them that’s made you keep trying.

But now, when Meenah turns away from you mid-speech and calls to Porrim, you don’t talk louder out of spite. You don’t change subject briefly to catch her attention. You don’t sidle into her view again. You walk away. You clench your jaw, turn on your heels, and barely make a sound as you head to the next bubble at a pace just short of a jog.

Nobody cares. Nobody calls after you. Of course they don’t. You’re glad, in a way. It makes the inevitable tears easier to handle after you finally lock yourself in your hive. Or… Your memory of it, anyway. Walls decorated purple and silver, imperial sigils hanging like badges of honour, proclaiming “Long Live the Empress”. It was more prophecy than prayer; she was a Tyrian, of course she would outlive everyone. There was no hope for anyone like you, any of the rejected, the unworthy, the ones who needed ‘saving’.

You lean against the door, gently lowering yourself onto the rug that bears your culler’s sign. There’s nothing you can complain about, honestly. Your culler was strict, but not uncaring. She fed you, clothed you, educated you. What more could a poor mutant ask for?

 _‘A chance to be heard’_ your pan tells you, bitterly.

You scoff, even as the tears continue to paint hot lines on your cheeks. Speaking. The one thing you could pride yourself on. No matter how much you hated your body, or your hair, or your pathetic horns, you always knew that your pan, at least, was ahead of most others. You read every book you could, learned everything that the world would tell you (and some things it wouldn’t).

But even though you had so much to share, there never seemed to be anyone willing to listen.

“You’re too young and too loud,” your culler would tell you, “wigglers should not speak until spoken to.”

“Don’t ask Kankri unless you’re desperate,” you would overhear the schoolfeed teachers say to each other, “he knows all the answers and talks far too much as it is.”

“I don’t have time, I’m busy,” the politer trolls would tell you. Others would just run away before you could open your mouth, or tell you to shut up after you did.

They were all right. You did have all the answers, and you wanted everyone to know - knowledge is power. It was the only power you were ever going to have. The thought makes you curl in on yourself, knees hugged to your chest. You became quite good at comforting yourself, not letting anyone see your emotions.

Besides, who would want someone like you in a quadrant? Weak, pampered, far too mouthy. You realised that all too soon, and when your culler began suggesting your vow, you didn’t even put up a fight. It was easier, to just shut yourself off. The option wasn’t there, so you couldn’t be disappointed.

The tears had begun to dry up as you assured yourself that there was nothing wrong, that you’d made the right choices, that you did the right things. Then you hear some of your friends laughing outside, and a horrible voice whispers in your pan that they’re laughing at you. Laughing at the way you ran away. Laughing at the tears they can’t see, running in renewed streams down your face.

They’re still right, when they say you talk too much, know too much, but somehow you’re still stupid, stupid, _stupid_. Naïve little Kankri Vantas, has a wealth of knowledge but none of it even remotely useful away from a scholar’s desk. They probably placed bets on how long you’d last in the game on your own.

You couldn’t even prove them wrong there; Latula, Porrim, Cronus and Rufioh _all_ saved you on separate occasions as they passed through your land. They’d tell you to be careful, and you would nod and say a ‘thank you’ amongst other things you should probably have kept quiet about. Then they’d leave, as if they merely loaned you some money instead of saving your life.

You thump your head back against the door, ignoring the pain for the momentary relief it brings from your own thoughts. But they always come back; your head is full of things you hate about yourself, wrapped up in a speech about some vaguely related topic and masked by a desire to help people.

And you do want to help, just not always for the right reasons.

“Kankri?”

You flinch. Oh God. You can’t be seen like this. Your pan doesn’t register that you locked the door as Cronus calls your name again - much closer, he must be right outside - and you stupidly answer him, drying your cheeks with frantic pats of your sleeves.

“I’m fine,” your voice is wavering, husky, totally unlike your normal tone. He’s definitely going to realise something’s wrong - you should have kept quiet, let him ignore you like everyone else.

“You sure?” His voice is right behind you, and when the door handle rattles you jump at least a foot away from the mat.

You clear your throat, “Yes. Yes, I’m fine.” The tears won’t stop tainting your words. So weak, so pathetic.

“Okay,” he draws out the word, as if he’s not sure what to do and wants more time to think. “Vwould you mind if I came in?”

Your stomach flips. No. No, no, no, _no_. He can’t see you like this. Nobody can see you like this.

“N-no,” you shake your head, wiping in vain at your tears. “Leave me alone, please.” Useless. Stupid. Coward.

“I uh, I don’t think that’s a good idea, chief, ya don’t sound too good.”

You don’t say anything. The door is locked, he can’t get in. He can’t make you talk to him.

“Kan, talk to me,” his voice is soft, like he’s trying to whisper through the door. “I vwon’t tell anyone, just let me in, tell me vwhat’s up.”

You take a deep breath. In through the nose, out through the mouth. It calms your sniffles enough to let you stand up. A step towards the door brings you closer than you’d like to be, and it seems like an eternity that your hand hovers against your chest as you stare at the handle.

Suddenly you change your mind, and simply flick the lock, sitting back down a few feet away before you call out.

“Okay. It’s open.” Then you add quickly, “But please, wipe your feet.”

Your eyes are on the floor as Cronus enters your hive, the one sacred place that none of the others have ever seen. A creak as the door opens. The scrape of boots on the rug. A gentle click as the door closes.

“Kankri.”

As soon as you meet those concerned, white eyes, you lose it. A sob all but chokes you, your breath catching in your throat as you muffle another cry with your sleeves, try to hide your tears even though Cronus has already seen them.

He doesn’t say anything, though. No ridicule, or questions. He just sits down next to you, not even touching, but you can feel his gaze drifting over your body as you sniffle.

You glance to the side when you’re able, and when you spot his hand on the floor, the impulse to grab it doesn’t even pass through your pan. He seems shocked, but lets you squeeze his fingers tightly as you stop trying to hold back your emotions.

It’s all a blur - figuratively and literally; you can barely see through the haze of tears, and any external stimuli besides _cold hand, gentle breathing, smooth fabric_ fails to register over the emotions bubbling up inside you. But by the time they finally die down, you’re being supported by arms around your shoulders, and your cheek is against Cronus’ chest.

He’s softer than you imagined. It makes you feel safe. So, so safe, and wanted, and cared for, things you haven’t let yourself feel in a very long time.

“It’s gonna be okay,” he mutters, “vwhatewver it is, it’s gonna be alright.”

You don’t have the heart to tell him he’s wrong. You just nod, and don’t protest as he pats your back. Or, perhaps _paps_ would be more accurate.

The two of your group least likely to get a Moirail, and you’re practically having a feelings jam. Somehow, that makes you smile, just a little. You close your eyes, letting Cronus hold you as your emotions melt away. Perhaps you’ll talk to him later.


	12. Icing on the Cake

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cronkri AU - Cronus is a baker and Kankri has a sweet tooth.

When Cronus told you he could bake, you were a little sceptical. Not because he lies to you - you ensured that nasty little habit was well and truly curbed after the ‘last grubcake’ incident - but because he’s well… Cronus. He writes music and thinks terrible pick up lines from the Internet are decent ways to start a conversation; not the type of person you’d expect to slave over a confectionary that’s drowning in pink icing.

But to your utter surprise, that’s exactly what he spent his time on the evening before your visit. At first, you felt guilty for doubting him. Matesprits should always believe each other unless given solid proof to do otherwise, that’s what makes the quadrant so strong. The apology speech for something Cronus wasn’t even aware of was already forming itself in your pan, countless readings and references slotting themselves in until it wasn’t so much an apology, as a verbal essay on all things deceitful and cake related.

Then he presented you with possibly the largest slice of strawberry cream cake you had ever seen and well… You guess the talking can wait. Cake _is_ still cake, after all.

He watches you intently from the other side of the table, teeth gnawing on his lower lip as you cautiously pick up the four pronged eating device. Just the smell of the sickly sweet icing is enough for your teeth to pre-emptively twinge, but it also makes your mouth water to the point where you’re worried about making a fool of yourself.

The small corner you cut off if nowhere near enough, but one must be dignified when eating in front of others, so you are sure to keep the piece small enough that you can comfortably pop it into your mouth. The icing melts almost instantly, flooding your taste buds with the creamiest strawberry tidal wave you’ve ever tasted. The cake itself is just plain vanilla, but it goes so perfectly that you couldn’t ask for a better combination.

You close your eyes and sigh out a noise of contentment. Pausing to enjoy your mouthful - it can barely be called that, how do people eat like this all the time? - before you finish it.

Cronus is grinning when you open your eyes, “Is it good, babe?”

You’re too busy shovelling another, larger piece into your mouth to reply, so you just nod and try not to look like a nutbeast with all the cake stuffing your cheeks.

Cronus has always loved watching you eat. You can tell from the way he never takes his eyes off you, even if it means missing his own mouth sometimes and ending up with a cheek covered in grubsauce. But you also know because he’s told you; when you take too big of a bite and have to cover your mouth, embarrassed, and he laughs and says nothing could put him off, he’s just glad you’re enjoying it. Or on the rare occasions that you allow him to feed you, and he always picks the nicest, most expensive chocolates he can find, the ones that make you smile just to open the box.

Or like right now, when the sight of you enjoying something he created with his own hands looks as if it might make him burst with giddiness.

“Would you like to try some?” You ask, pretending that you don’t notice he’s staring at you.

“Nah, Kan, this piece is all yours. But I’m sure you can persuade me to hawve some later.” He winks, and you roll your eyes.

But instead of reprimanding him for what is obviously a lewd suggestion, you stifle your squawkblister’s instinct with another mouthful of cake.

He’s still watching you when you finish scraping up the last of the frosting from the plate. A troll with less savoury manners might have licked it clean, but that is what eating utensils are for. Even if they do make a slightly grating sound. The taste is worth it, though.

“I’m gonna take that as your sign of approwval?” Cronus asks as you lean back in the chair, giving your stomach a pat.

“Yes, that was absolutely exquisite, I take back everything I ever insinuated about your cooking skills being sub par.”

He chuckles, “Thanks, but, I vwouldn’t go that far, I still can’t cook for shit.” He takes your plate and dumps it in the sink, sitting next to you when he returns. “Bakin’ is different, though. You just throw it all together, put on some sugary stuff an’ bam - a cake that’s as svweet as my boyfriend.”

You can’t help smiling even as your cheeks flush red. “I believe you are selling yourself short, there is undoubtedly more skill involved in making something so truly wonderful than just ‘throwing’ the ingredients together, as you put it. _In fact_ ,” you poke his chest lightly to emphasise the point, “I will not believe you until I have a demonstration.”

“You vwant me to teach you to bake?” He takes your hand, an eyebrow raised to mirror the slant of his mouth.

“Yes, I think it would be fun, and an interesting learning experience, of course, as someone with no prior confectionary knowledge besides basic flavour combinations, and that is only through trial and error based on my personal preferences.”

He snorts out a laugh, pressing a gentle kiss to your forehead, “Alright, sounds like a good time. You can be my flawvour advwiser, you’re alvways eatin’ svweets so I knowv I can trust your judgement.”

You gasp, feigning offence, “Cronus Ampora, are you implying that my diet contains too much sugar?”

“A course not, babe,” he knows you’re joking, but squeezes your hand all the same. “You’re perfect.”

You smile, letting him pull you against his chest with a sigh. “Just like your cakes,” you mumble.

“Kan, comparin’ somethin’ I made to someone like you is the best compliment I could ask for.”

Your cheeks are burning, but you’ve been with Cronus long enough to not let it bother you too much. Instead, you snuggle closer, rubbing your face into his shirt as he squeezes you around the middle. You yawn. Food always makes you sleepy. Cronus strokes your back as you drift off still cuddling against him, your head full of all sorts of cakes and pies that you’ll get to make when you wake up.


	13. Storytime

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For Krabkri.
> 
> ((Chubstuck pale EriKri in the dream bubbles))

**== > Eridan, interrupt your Moirail**

When you finally spy your Moirail after passing through countless bubbles - and ignoring countless of his idiot ‘friends’ who shouldn’t be friends because they don’t even appreciate him - he’s curled up reading under a tree. His blank eyes are set on the pages of a very thick and old-looking book, and the thought of reading it yourself makes you giddy as a wiggler. Then the thought of him reading it _to_ you almost makes you grin like an idiot.

But that would look ridiculous, so you quell those stupid feelings and step fully into the bubble.

The memory doesn’t look like it’s his; too alternian with the black buildings and sharp corners. But he’s learnt so much about your culture, he could just be using his imagination from what you’ve told him and what he’s read. He’s an intelligent fucker like that, which is why he’s the only one of these obnoxious, Beforan dickweeds you can stand to be around.

He doesn’t see you at first, and you’re about to shout his name when you get an idea. You might get a lecture for this, but to be honest that’s a punishment you’ll gladly take - your Moirail has the most soothing voice, even when he’s angry.

Somehow, you manage to creep around to the back of the tree without him noticing. He must be really involved in that book; you’re not exactly light as a feather and you definitely broke a few branches on the way over. Either that or… He’s faking.

Only one way to find out.

You hold your breath and reach over to poke his shoulder and spook him, only to get scared half to double-death yourself when he says, “Hello, Eridan,” without even looking at you.

“To what do I owe the pleasure?” He continues whilst you settle your nerves.

“Fuckin’ hell, you frightened the shit outta me.”

He turns around slightly to look up at you - _up_ , for once, hah. “I was simply preempting your less than polite greeting. After all, is that not what you intended to do to me?”

His mouth puckers a little with a retained smirk, before he returns to his reading. Crafty bastard.

“ _Kaaaaaannn_ ,“ usually you hate sounding whiny, but you’ve learned that Kankri is the one person it actually works on. “Don’t be so _mean_.”

You drape yourself over his shoulders, splaying your hands across his broad, sweatered chest as you nuzzle at his hair. God, it’s so soft, how does he do it?

“I’m not being ‘mean’, I am attempting to teach you the manners that your previous society’s education system overlooked.” He doesn’t take his eyes off the book the entire time.

It may look absolutely fascinating, but if it’s distracting your Moirail’s attention from you, the important one here, then it definitely has to go. Somewhere safe, though. Where it won’t get damaged. Maybe somewhere you can read it later. Like in your sylladex.

“W-what’s your book about?” You stand on tiptoes so you can slide your hands down and kneed gently at his stomach, still rubbing your face around his ear and horn.

Kankri won’t let anyone except you touch him, but now he’s gotten used to it, you can melt him with the slightest display of physical pale affection. And the fact that he’s basically a giant pillow who smells like candy floss means you enjoy it just as much.

“It is a record of accounts from those in the Beforan military,” he replies, and you can tell he’s going to bump his forehead against yours before he even moves to do it. “Of course our meagre forces were nothing compared to the army wielded by Her Imperious Condescension, but it’s nonetheless- Excuse me!”

Whilst Kankri is too busy nattering and rubbing against your cheek, you get a firm grasp on the book and deposit it into your sylladex the moment his grip loosens,

Unfortunately, this does mean that he jolts backwards and you end up in a pile on the floor, but at least now all of his attention on you, right?

“What on Beforus possessed you to do that?” Even as he berates another of your life choices, he still helps pull you to a sitting position opposite him.

“I just w-wanted to talk to you.”

He sighs, “You could have just asked, I’m always more than happy to stop what I am doing in order to spare some time for you, Eridan, you know that.”

You let a little smirk creep onto your face as you flutter your fins at him, “But w-where’s the fun in that? This w-way I got ta use some tactics, ain’t you alw-ways sayin I should put some a my military know-whow-w to good use?”

“Aren’t, not ain’t,” he corrects, and you pout but he ignores it. “And I didn’t quite mean like this, my aim was to convince you to offer advice to your friends who are still attempting to win the game.”

You scoff and look away, “They don’t need my adwice, not like they’d listen anyw-w-way.” Wow that was a spectacular stutter, good job, Eri.

“I’m sure they would.” Even without seeing his face, you know how Kankri is looking at you; the furrowed brow and mouth set into a line, halfway between pity and authority.

That’s the one expression you hate.

“Come here,” he says when you make no attempt to acknowledge his reply.

A hand settles on your shoulder, and soon you’re letting yourself crawl forwards as Kankri oh-so-gently ushers you into his lap.

Now, you’re not the tallest troll in the world. In fact, save for Nepeta, you’re actually the shortest out of your group. But where she’s all balanced shapes and toned muscles for hunting, you’ve got more of the insulated physique. You don’t mind though. The empress has curves, and she’s stunning. It’s just a sign that you can feed yourself well enough to build fat reserves - or that you can pay someone else to do it (which you only did occasionally, of course).

Kankri is actually the shortest out of his companions, but he’s still a few hands taller than most of you. That’s what a second pupation will do. Too bad you died before you hit your growth spurt.

Although, when you circle your arms around Kankri’s neck, and he presses you to his soft thorax with those strong, wide arms, you guess it isn’t too much of a shame. After all, if you had gotten to the size of an adult sea dweller, you wouldn’t be able to snuggle into him like a giant hot water bottle, kneading your claws into his sweater until you can just feel the tenderness of his body underneath.

Kankri is so ripe to be pitied, with his mutant blood and the fragility of his velvet skin, but at the same time you feel so safe with him, like he could protect you from anything - even if it meant talking to someone until they just spontaneously combusted because they’re too intellectually lacking to understand what he’s saying.

You never have that problem, of course. You’re very intelligent for your age, Kankri says so.

“If you would kindly return my book, I could read some to you, if you’d like?”

Speaking of Kankri’s lovely voice, it resonates through his chest into your fin, and the book flies into your eager hands as soon as you sit up.

Kankri smiles and you trill for him as a simultaneous please and thankyou. He leans forwards to bump your noses together with a chirp. Like you, he barely makes any non-lingual vocalisations, but when you’re together they just slip out.

You’re already purring as Kankri rearranges himself so that he can hold the book open with one hand and hug you with the other. He says you can turn the pages and you chirr happily at him, laying your hand on his stomach. You can only just fit your arms all the way around, but you like it that way, because that just means you can practically surround yourself with his scent as he reads to you.

Screw giving your lousy ex teammates advice, this is a _far_ better use of your tactical knowledge.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Haha, hahahaha! Nowhere did I say I would stick to pairings from certain timelines! I bring you EriKri, a ship close to my heart that there isn't enough of. Hope you enjoyed.

**Author's Note:**

> Kudos and comments are always appreciated - I'd love to hear if you have a favourite!
> 
> I hope you enjoyed reading these and have a fantastic day or night ~
> 
> I have a Tumblr! You can ask questions about this or any of my other fics and AUs, or just pop along to say hi! http://slavetomykeyboard.tumblr.com
> 
> I guess I'll try and take prompts if anyone has one? (SFW only at the moment, but any quadrant is a-okay with me! - for ashen you can specify a third member too). Just message/ask me on my tumblr above with the details and I'll see what I can do!


End file.
